I wandered lonely as a cloud,
but hang on mate, is that allowed?
I’m sure that’s one too many thrills.
We’re talking golden daffodils!
A crowd beside a lake, and trees,
all smoking pot and popping e’s;
The waves beside them danced with glee
and drowned the boss’s effigy.
A poet, gay, or maybe straight,
whilst passing through the garden gate,
reclined on couch, in pensive mood,
and all his friends thought him most rude.
But now his heart o’erflowed with pleasure,
displayed his love and took his measure,
and, as he rose above the crest,
declared those daffodils the best!
With more than a little nod towards:
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud