13 years ago he wrote this silly poem in his head on his way to work and then texted it to me. I wish we had more time with him here on this side of eternity to really do some writing and publishing.

My daffodils are under snow.

How can this be? I do not know.

For thus the calendar says it is spring.

These weathermen don’t know a thing.

Oh, my daffodils, how cold you must be

Buried in snow right up to your knee.

Stick around and you will get warmer

For the time is coming for the summer.

—Zack Furches—