Oh, Wordsworth: what have I done to your daffodils?

Sorry, William Wordsworth. Seeing your “host of golden daffodils” blooming in the pouring rain, in England, in early January this year, I couldn’t help but borrow your format to express my utter amazement. In a far less literary, but probably more contemporary way…

Oh, Wordsworth: what have I done to your daffodils?

F*** me, those must be daffodils

Daffodils? In January?

I wandered lonely, cursing loud
At mud and sh*t o’er vales and hills
When all at once I clasped my brow
F*** me, those must be daffodils
In January? What a wheeze
This global warming’s the bee’s knees.

Continuous for several feet
This row of daffs was here to stay
Not puny buds but real blooms, neat
And in a balls-out upright way
They took me in at a simple glance
While I drove by, by sheer pure chance.

The road beside them heaved with mud
Splashed my whole car with watery pee
And other quite unmentionable crud
Such inappropriate crap to see
I gazed – and gazed – and then, a hitch
My car was aiming for the ditch.

Today, when on my couch I lay
Recuperating here of course
I still see all those daffs that day
And think about the powerful force
When, distracted, I did wedge
My car into the neighbour’s hedge.

©Suzan St Maur 2016

Once again, with sincere apologies to William Wordsworth…here is his original:

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Oh, Wordsworth: what have I done to your daffodils?

A host, of golden daffodils

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

And no, I don’t want to know which version you prefer

But please share your thoughts, anyway!