Daffodil, Daffodil

Daffodil, daffodil, can’t you see?

I love you sweet flower,

But you don’t love me.

You know me not, so I suppose,

I am but a mirror,

Blank as shadows.

Without people I am mute,

Mere consciousness,

A playerless lute.

Around too many others

I am a scramble,

Their presence smothers.

Daffodil, daffodil, look not listen,

I am a poor imitation

But my eyes, they glisten.

I am nothing at all of my own:

Composed of distant fragments,

Patchwork of all I’ve known.

I have nothing you could call a true voice;

The words that I speak

Are not mine of choice.

I love you, I love you,

I can never say,

Unless you do too.