Daffodils and Memory

I have something of a fan group at my church in Fresno - a number of the older attendees of the first service have become my sincere friends, and whenever we meet they ask with great interest how I've been, and tell me they've been praying, and I know they truly mean it, day after day of prayers for me. I'm so grateful to them. This poem is born of a memory of the time this summer I mentioned to one of the ladies that I remembered her love of Wordsworth and daffodils, and I may have quoted a line or two. My dad later spoke to her, and said those few words had moved her deeply, and it got me thinking about what large impacts small, offhand statements can have. It was nice to see it work for good once.

It meant the world to her,

my father said,

that I remembered both her loves;

for Wordsworth and daffodils,

kind words to an older woman

that I had not meant to be kind,

merely an observation and remembrance,

but it moved her still the same.

We never know how just our being

can provide the spark the kindling needs,

dry from a season of drought

yet ready for flames.

Don’t waste your breath

asking why our loves are loves,

just accept and remember,

they are loves and love

needs no reason,

being of the heart not the head.

I tell you now, I love you,

try not to forget.

Bring it up someday,

I’ll smile, and then pull out

a daffodil, and then you’ll see me weep.