Where Wordsworth left his legacy, oe’r a knoll of rusting time
His daffodils still bloom and whisper, their muse’s lasting rhyme
So is the sun, so dazzling too, but not a daffodil
A billion years squandered away, never tallied its timeless thrill

What else could be the kiss of bliss, no better incarnate?
Than smiles of little noble souls, ecstasy in purest yellow spate
Where meets the eye, horizon’s myth, they go on and on
Oh! “Daffodils” is the name of truth, so true, but so forlorn

“Do take us along, a recall, if not a song”
Beg a million hearts, born, to love and long
“Be sweet and short life, than a death that lasts”
Daffodils grow strong, on decadent pasts

Many bards will come, muse and go, in awe
And see many times, what Wordsworth saw
Yet, every view, with its skills and frills
Will glorify the daffodils…immortalize the daffodils

© 2016 Vikas Chandra

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