Being Coaxed

A few days ago the morning was warm and damp.
As I dressed to go to my office,
   I chose clothes that coordinated with mud,
      for I felt the urge to photograph daffodils.
I have photographed them before, of course,
   singly, in pairs, in groups.
But this time I wanted to photogragh, not daffodils,
   but daffodil-ness.
Not what a daffodil looks like
   but what one feels like.
Not its external structure so much
   as something of its created essence.
I photographed two hours in a morning drizzle,
   then another two hours under late afternoon clouds.
I knelt and sat in wet mulch and mud
   most of that time.
I had hundreds of daffodils from which to choose,
   but in my four hours of lying and sitting
      there was only enough time
         to be with seven or eight flowers.
I wish I could say that I photographed daffodil-ness,
   but I don't believe that happened.
Oh, I have images.
But the essence of daffodil vibrancy, daffodil joy,
   daffodil poignancy, daffodil meaning?
I'm afraid my camera and I fell short.
Fortunately, my craving for daffodil-ness remains,
   and for a few days, daffodils will too.
Each time I see one,
   it seems to be encouraging me, coaxing me.
Who am I to resist?