I wave to them, as they do smile,

As they wait patiently awhile,

Absorbed in tuneful melody,

Across the golden sand,

Beside the sea,

And in the summer wonderland,

They dance, and lend a helping hand,

To all those miserable or unhappy,

They radiate their will to be free,

But we see them as they are,

Beautiful and charming from afar.

Nevertheless; they look precious to me,

As they make the butterflies flee,

With their gayness and jocundity,

They do; don’t they, look so pretty?

But when the sun chooses to return,

To its silent grave;

Then upon that gloomy evening,

The wondrous sight we crave.

And then among the withering;

Grass and golden glade,

The pleasing sight is no longer there,

As the daffodils do fade.




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