The daffodils are out, reminding me of tax day 1994. On the very day I sent my money to the greedy Uncle Sam, a minor treasure showed itself to me, and it was valuable:
Today the IRS took theirs,
but I got back a minor treasure,
pay dirt from funds deposited last fall,
buried in escrow underground.
The vault of morning opened,
and my riches shimmered in the rising sun.
And all that gold was mine to see and count,
mine by grace of God,
beyond the reach of Caesar's tax collector.
A dazzling clutch of daffodils
beneath my woodland trees.