The daffodil was still a seedling
Recall that hot summer noon
Mother and I cooked in the kitchen
And talked about my perfect groom

When the bull ignores the cow’s moo
He must be frustrated and hungry too
When last was his best laugh?
Tell him a joke or bear him a calf

When the sire barks at his dam
Gather the puppies to their kennel
A little space will do no harm
He himself will come to settle

But when the stamen tramples on his pistil
Don’t cry “oh heavens save us!”
For why must he be so hostile?
Pack your petals and board the next bus

Men, why hit your wives?
Women, why the silence?
Perhaps you have nine lives
That you condone such violence

It’s winter
The daffodil is mature now
I left my perfect mister
His rage and his dirty frown
I’m back mum
It was an heart-shattering run
The sun is nowhere to be found
But mother is beneath the ground
She’s not rising from the grave
But she whispers “Thanks for being brave!”