The daffodil was contented,
Growing outside the fences,
Thriving alongside the unwanted weeds,
Reaching for the sun in its quiet defiance.
But the daffodil would often daydream,
Of gardens where it was adored,
Of hands that caressed the petals,
As a flower carefully chosen, not ignored.
Listen to the ballad of the daffodil,
Lonely tunes of a love unfulfilled,
It sang to the sky, but no one would hear,
A song of longing, tinged with fear.
Its golden face would beam with grace,
But in its heart, there is no place,
For the kind of love it yearned to know,
Still blooming in silence, can’t wither and let go.
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InkHeart Poetry 