Oh look.
The cloud there, does it not stand tall?
Pearly white of a spring afternoon, imposing:
neither lonely, certainly, nor wandering.
No fluttering and no dancing in the breeze
Any more than these immobile daffodils
Quietly bearing witness.

Witness
to the stasis and the stalemate
vocation v. avocation
promise v. failure
flickers of hope v. their predictable assassination.
Let's welcome April, the cruellest month of the year...
A poet could hardly have a say
In such sombre company;
I gazed- and gazed- but little thought
What finality the show to me had brought:

For when I'm sat at my desk
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon the inward eye
The full-bodied torment of solitude;
And then my heart with terror fills,
And I proceed to uproot these godforsaken daffodils.