deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Daffodil

  I had a dream the other night.
I awoke in a state of fright.
  I rose sweating, turned on a light.
Grabbed my journal, began to write.
 
  I was a very unhappy, sad Daffodil.
Not wanting to be, but was still.
  I tried with all my might and will.
To become a rose.  I tried until,
 
  a monster came, all scary loud.
Sleek and shiny, moving proud.
  Was I safe?  I was in my crowd.
To the great gardener my head had bowed.
 
  The pretty yellow flowers were bobbin in the breeze.
Enjoying rain and sun, living life with ease,
  and somewhere in my stem I felt the ugly queaze.
I didn't like myself.  I prayed gardener please.
 
  Turn me to a rose, or to a yellow headed stem.
Anything but a daffodil, any one of them.
  At that moment I heard ahem.
Smarten up, look around, carpe diem.
 
  I opened up my eyes, slowly raised my crown.
Saw the monster mow em down.
  Realized then, I was being a clown,
and made a smile outta a frown.
 
  A Daffodil may not be a rose red.
But hey I'm alive, not dying or dead.
  Every day I'm watered, every day I'm fed,
and the monster don't come by to chop off my head.
 
Blackhyde Jarl Slind  Dec 19 2016 11:30
Written by blackhyde
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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