Golden Trumpets in the Breeze

Beneath a sky of softened cobalt hue,

They rise—a legion clad in sunlit gold,

Their trumpets brimming with celestial dew,

As April's breath unfolds their petals bold.

They dance where winter’s grip once chilled the earth,

❀ ❀ ❀

A thousand bows in tempo with the wind,

Each blossom sings a hymn of quiet mirth,

A chorus where the frost’s last shadows thinned.

No kingly crown could rival such a sight—

Their necks bent low in grace, yet unashamed,

❀ ❀ ❀

They line the fields like fragments of starlight,

And blush the air with fragrance softly named.

For when the world grows heavy, grim, or gray,

They lift their heads and reignite the day.