Daffodils?
Wordsworth’s waved and danced:
mine just bend, bow and nod,
in a sight, densely displayed
upon a mossy bank.

No lake there, nor cloud
in the sky,neither am I lonely.
I'm here with a girl called April.
Counting those yellow heads
is easy: sixty, if I’m not mistaken.

How William “...saw ten thousand
at a glance..” from a closet, baffles me.
It seems daffodils make you gay
and sprightly dance - jocund too -
at least they made him so.

Now supine upon my comfy couch
I lie - in breezy mood of parody,
it transports me off to Holland.
where  in Amsterdam counting tulips,
Naughty Weekend April is beside me.

TOBIAS