Poem: In praise of the daffodil

Daffodils
Daffodils

There isn’t a book you can read To show you how to live

There are no rules to follow

to show you when to take or give.

But some days when you feel really low,

as down the path of life you go, just think about the daffodil

as she bobs away on yonder hill.

She dances in the springtime breeze,

so happy to be alive,

She blows her yellow trumpet with happiness and pride.

But what about when she gets down,

when she is feeling low,

when the cruel wind and rain bends her pretty head down into the mud below.

Her pretty face is dirty and the wind blows long and strong, bending her stalk again and again,

as she is blown in the mud and lashed with rain.

Once the rain has ceased she struggles to raise her head. Her little trumpet’s heavy with mud.

She would stand up straight if only she could.

But once again the warming sun sends down her cheerful rays,

the springtime breeze blows around her head and tells her ‘come on thus’.

Lift yourself up from the mud and I will blow you dry.

She’s found a friend in the sun, also in the breeze.

Also in the springtime rain that washed her clean again.

So next time you are feeling low

go to yonder hill,

stop a while and have a chat, with the daffodil.

Pollie Carver

Valley Gardens

Hapton