I saw spring with my heart today: A small girl, skipping, came my way. Her Daddy's smile was on her face, Her petticoat dripped fresh-torn lace.
A bunch of yellow-gold I spied Behind her back - Oh woe betide! Fresh daffodils! "For you," she said. Plucked from my neighbour's flowerbed.
This poem was written for me by my mother Marcelle Pollington, when I was a little girl in California. The picture is from several years ago - when I was looking at the daffodils at Canberra's Floriade festival.