Daffodil, poor daffodil,
Stood all alone upon the hill.
Where’s the dancing crowd beside you ?
Where’s your golden host ? Denied you !
Fluttering beneath the trees,
There surely should be more of these…?
As warmly blows the westering,
Are you the scout to test the Spring ?
Or last to rise, too long abed,
Who’s missed his chance for getting wed ?
Some blooms can stand alone and proud –
But you look lonely as a cloud.