The Daffodils

Cued to lock onto the beam,

Their slender-stalked

Fringed

Funnel faces

Seek the light.

In unison,

And in the manner

Of a tiny farm

Of satellite dishes,

They orient themselves.

Each stands tilted

To face the sky,

Faithfully following

The strongest manifestations

Of the sun and its energy.

And then unto themselves

They gather the colors,

The various yellows, the uncommon gold,

That cheer us on our way

Beside them.