I worried about the roof last night as the Westerly blew, announcing the arrival of March. I worried about the new daffodils that seem to meet and greet the March winds every year.
I wandered about in poetic vein at 3 am, the rafters creaking. This is what accompanied my thoughts.
a warrior gloved and shod in steel.
And in the dawning light
St David’s standards lay
strewn on the battlefield of David’s Day.
But to my delight, the daffodils survived the onslaught of the west wind and greeted St David’s Day with heads held high.