Yellow Daffodils
Out into the garden I would go,
To smell the perfumed daffodil,
When I would begin to throw,
My feelings in full intent and will.
Thy delicacy evades description,
But I know that it does not,
Since thou art nature’s solicitation,
Evolution’s prime living pot.
So bold a plane will surface me,
Tender me until I cannot hide,
Playfully withdraw my sobriety,
Until I am able to myself abide.
With thee, I know humankind’s bleeds,
And from Wordsworth, king and pundit,
And my gratitude to him intercedes,
The bitterness of god’s gambit.
Sweet daffodils, thou givest memory,
As the master nobly concluded,
Because that moment thou didst vivify,
Is brought back whenever regarded.
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