Daffodils

Poems in the time of Corona

Daffodils
after William Wordsworth

I pondered Covid in my house
Then at the shop where minor thrills
Were all there was to please my spouse:
A vase of mouldy daffodils.
Lone on the shelf, behind the glass,
Limp in a clump of dry, brown grass.

Nevertheless, I claimed my prize
And took my place within the line
Stretched from the checkout to the pies
Behind the baker's old 'closed' sign.
Ten thousand customers, I thought,
Had passed this way and coughed and bought.

Towards the cashier I advanced,
Not daring to adjust my mask,
Which tickled as my neighbours glanced
With envy at my golden flask:
Yes, I had sprightly swooped to buy
A Riesling that had caught my eye.

So now when on my couch I lie,
Made pensive by a sudden chill,
I take a sip of wine and sigh
How daffodils might make me ill.
At least I have some peaceful hours:
My spouse adores those bloody flowers.



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