Daffodils
an homage to William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud,
polluting skies above the hills
as governmental rule allowed
these poisoned fumes and toxic spills,
the skin of filth upon the lake
reflected Mankind’s worst mistake.
Continuous, the landscape coarse
and choked by urbanite decay,
I tried to sing but sounded hoarse;
a tuneless note of dank dismay,
ten thousand trampled daffodils
destroyed by deeds and dollar bills.
The trees beside them groaned and flexed
with heavy limb and trembling leaf,
they knew for sure their death was next
and wept to me in abject grief,
I bowed my head in deep respect
for victims of the architect.
Now often as I rest my head
and dwell upon the lines we crossed
I choose to kindle hope instead,
remind myself not all is lost —
the vase upon my windowsill
contains a single daffodil.
