Dead Daffodils

The daffodils are dead or dying

Their leaves upon the lane are lying

Like sunlight they once shone

Now golden gleam has gone

 

A host upon the hill were swaying

In summer breeze, like nuns all praying

Then blooms were bled to brown;

Cruel children trod them down

 

But daffodils are born believing

The ghosts, they give up, won’t be grieving

When blooming by the bay

Seems damned to death’s decay

 

The daffodils, of spring, are sleeping

Like dear, departed dead, unweeping

In peace, ‘neath summer skies

For like the dead, they’ll rise!