Daffodil Sonnet

The woman at the bus stop didn’t know,

Yet she handed me a blooming flower,

Six petal’d daffodil of bright yellow.

Plant snipped in its most exquisite hour.

Why did she have it? Why give it to me?

She lifted up her hand without a word,

Offering the flower, staring blankly.

My “thanks” very quiet, maybe unheard.

Oh bus stop woman, I’m merely a bud.

Nineteen years old, yet a man only two.

More testosterone now runs through my blood.

My first shot was twenty minutes ago.

I thank you kindly, oh bus stop woman.

A blooming flower for a budding man.

Worm Sonnet

I sympathize with the dancing worm,

Who lives below, alone on sunny days,

Who always hides from the cloudless warm,

Who emerges only when it rains,

And when it rains the wet brings such delight

That all the worms must come to celebrate.

They waltz and groove all through the stormy night

‘Til drying sun seals their dying fate.

I understand why worms love rainy hours.

I was once a puddle stomping child.

Fav’rite songs are louder in the shower.

Rain is something holy, old, and wild.

Under sun, one with humanity,

But the rain brings out the worm in me.

(This is the first poem I’ve written in years, so please be nice!)