I picked daffodil for a spring birthday
and brought it to a friend at a bar.
The daffodil was a yellow starburst, plucked
from my own back garden,
but on my walk with the blossom, I saw others
city-planted, concrete-stunted,
less buttery and more sickly yellow.
I wanted to wear a sign declaring the origin,
so that others would know I did not steal it--
but also, the secret to its vibrancy was me.
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