Your birthday always brings me back to flowers.
Last month snowdrops nudged off soil caps
and turned their faces to the light.
Now, heads bowed, they contemplate return.
In their place a flourish of lilac, purple and white
adorn forest floors, signals to the end of night.
Today, ubiquitous green stemmed clumps
rise by roadsides and parkland paths.
Straining to birth yellow trumpets
that will confirm her return to earth.
Spring in Greek is ανοιξη*,
so when your mother gave you up
you were born with daffodils!
An actual Salford Persephone.