Daffodil, daffodil, can’t you see?
I love you sweet flower,
But you don’t love me.
You know me not, so I suppose,
I am but a mirror,
Blank as shadows.

Without people I am mute,
Mere consciousness,
A playerless lute.
Around too many others
I am a scramble,
Their presence smothers.

Daffodil, daffodil, look not listen,
I am a poor imitation
But my eyes, they glisten.
I am nothing at all of my own:
Composed of distant fragments,
Patchwork of all I’ve known.

I have nothing you could call a true voice;
The words that I speak
Are not mine of choice.
I love you, I love you,
I can never say,
Unless you do too.