The Plucking of the Daffodil

There was once a little daffodil,

Leaving beneath the great oak tree,

Who was also her dear uncle Bill,

Under his shade she dreamt a life free

Of chasing her dreams, ever so many.

Under the million stars, her dreams she kindled,

Of the faraway lands and knights in shining armor,

There she lay awake, night after night so splendid.

She had a smile to stop a king and humour,

A pretty face too to match.

Every night she dreamt of many a great things,

Of singing to the birds in early mountain dawn,

Of kissing the queen and of donning her mighty crown,

Of touching a prince and forever be in him gone,

But alas that was not so to be.

One fateful day came the great merchant doom,

He asked Uncle Bill so artfully for his dear little niece,

Many a great things awaits he said, not a drop of gloom,

For this beautiful daffodil would make a garland for ladies fair and nice,

Promised him of a place so fair, and all that’s good for his little niece.

The lovely little daffodil wept and wept and wept all right,

“I am so young, yet so tender for my dreams be forever crushed,

It is too early for me, to lose all of life from sight”

She pleaded and begged, but yet her opinion away was brushed,

Oh dear, Oh our poor little daffodil.

Her dear Uncle Bill did seldom put up a face so stern,

Pointed at his niece and said in a voice ever so hoarse.

“I wish only well, my dear little child, all I wish is you not burn

For you are to me precious as the short king’s mighty horse”

I wish only good and all the glittering glory to you.

I know of your dreams, so high and mighty,

Of wandering the worlds and of the royal garden,

But you are only a daffodil and take that not so lightly,

I am old and weak and with you future laden,

This is for you good my dear little one.”

On the day of the great plucking, came the merchant doom,

She was plucked ceremoniously, our little miss daffodil,

No more a miss but ever so young and yet to bloom,

She cried so hard that night and lost was her dreams and will,

Only to wither away in the dark shadows of an alley way back.