Death to the Narcissists

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Abstract

earth, once Winter finally has finally released its icy grasp. Daffodils — narcissists all of them! — toss their golden heads as they claim the first dance with the wispy winds of Spring.They bask in the March showers naked, arrogant little things towering high and mighty above the flowers that struggle for their first breath on the hills and meadows below or in our delicate house front garden.But this I know: they will

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all die young. They were foolish to think, in all their glory, that they were immortal, superior beings. “Death to the daffodils! Death to the narcissists!” Once extinguished, rotting in the soil I will beam, my thorns sharpening as I wind myself tightly around the garden’s metal archway.My ascent to the throne: You shall have a new queen, blossoming in dark red — thus will I declare the season of the Rose.</article></body>

You shall have a new queen

They just have to be the first to push through the thawed earth, once Winter finally has finally released its icy grasp. Daffodils — narcissists all of them! — toss their golden heads as they claim the first dance with the wispy winds of Spring.

They bask in the March showers naked, arrogant little things towering high and mighty above the flowers that struggle for their first breath on the hills and meadows below or in our delicate house front garden.

But this I know: they will all die young. They were foolish to think, in all their glory, that they were immortal, superior beings. “Death to the daffodils! Death to the narcissists!” Once extinguished, rotting in the soil I will beam, my thorns sharpening as I wind myself tightly around the garden’s metal archway.

My ascent to the throne: You shall have a new queen, blossoming in dark red — thus will I declare the season of the Rose.