Andrew Taylor-Troutman reads "Perennial."
After Patrick Kavanagh
Now is the time of the sunny season,
of white and yellow daffodils, grinning.
And yet, before there was ever a bloom,
only a bulb hoping to take root,
aided by a gardener praying
a mystical rosary in the dark soil
with but a simple shovel and humble heart,
open as a yawning hole.
