Marigolds first appear in the ditches,
far before the summer crowd.
They are the first to signal
the birth of spring.
They lie in low places,
move from the muck and
drainage to the sunlight
and to raised recognition.
They reflect the sun.
They are the celebration
of life at the bottom of a
nondescript ditch.
They compete with the browns
and plainer language of a pine forest
in early April and May.
They are harbingers of what is to come.
Heralds of another, brighter day.
They compete with no one.
They are the original, the first.
They proclaim the colors
in a world of grey,
a world of frost and fading ice.
They wait for no cue;
they advance with elaborate design.
They occupy the low places.
They are longed for as
first announcers of spring.
They do not apologize
for their lowly status.
Nature has selected them,
and they are equal
to their diminutive task.
Broadcasters of new life
in a weary and forlorn world.
"Swamp Merry-Golds" taken from published book Nature's Poetry of Life: Who's Watching Who? Available at Amazon.com.