Like Wordsworth's shiny yellow daffodil
This image flashed upon my inward eye
Many a time, for I did love you still−
My love for you would still refuse to die.
Daily I still would summon forth your face
Instilled from memories of joy and grief,
And still be warm in your infilled embrace,
Which lost would still be my still heart's motif.
But human love bows to vicissitude
And my love scorned and spurned and spat in spite
Being thus human, though in spate, was skewed,
And lost your shiny face from fancy's sight.
Now I do long for other daffodils
For love still wants a face to face in stills.
This image flashed upon my inward eye
Many a time, for I did love you still−
My love for you would still refuse to die.
Daily I still would summon forth your face
Instilled from memories of joy and grief,
And still be warm in your infilled embrace,
Which lost would still be my still heart's motif.
But human love bows to vicissitude
And my love scorned and spurned and spat in spite
Being thus human, though in spate, was skewed,
And lost your shiny face from fancy's sight.
Now I do long for other daffodils
For love still wants a face to face in stills.
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