This morning, while reading a book, I was reminded of buttercups. The young female protagonist received a pin in the shape of a buttercup as a gift.

As my cup of coffee kicked in, I started thinking back to my childhood.

There was something about buttercups …

It took a few minutes to piece it all together, but memories of Mom picking a tiny yellow flower and holding it under my chin gradually broke through the fog.

“Let’s see … there it is! You like butter! That’s what the buttercup tells us!”

Of course, I’d hurriedly check her chin with a second buttercup. And sure enough, Mom liked butter, too! Her chin absolutely glowed a buttery yellow.

Next came the real test (this morning). Did Mom ever include buttercups in a poem?

Sure enough, the proof was in a letter she’d sent to Sister Amabilis, her aunt.

The letter was dated May 4, 1944.

A Breath of Spring

There’s a dark-throated redstart in splendor arrayed
That’s tilted upon a gray limb;
Serenading a buttercup off in the glade –
With a twitter and fantastic whim.

A gurgle, a babble, a sweet lilting tune,
The forest brook sings with the breeze,
As she dances and skips in the glow of the moon –
With a canopy gesture of trees.

Dun-spotted fawn sipping there in the glen –
Shy and contented is he.
Indian paintbrush are planted again,
In the wake of the pasture and lea.

Red squirrels and cottontails scampering soft,
To join your companions in game;
Skylark and meadowlark drifting aloft,
Rejoice with the springtime and cherish her name.

~ Joan Cassidy ~ May 1944 (age 14)

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“A Breath of Spring” ©1944 Joan Cassidy. All rights reserved.

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