blooming bulbs spring forth

Each year I forget about the bulbs
lying dormant in the earth,
the ones I planted years and years ago,
a secret stash of buried treasure.
Suddenly one morning there’s a frenzy
of yellow daffodils—botanic fireworks.

Purple hyacinths follow
arriving fully formed from under
the winter ground;
I’ve never even noticed
the budding plants, their first push
  toward the sun,
traveling at the speed of light.

But here they all are, amassing at
the bottom of my front steps
like a chorus announcing that
indeed, it’s spring;
and I am perpetually surprised,
caught completely unaware again
by this annual predictor of resurrection.

Liz McFadzean