Where the Daffodils Still Dance

I walked alone, not lost, but deep in thought,

Where quiet fields and open skies are taught

To hold the stillness that the soul might seek

When noise has drowned the wisdom of the meek.

No crowd, no call—just wind upon my face,

And earth beneath me, steady in its grace.

The world, though turning, seemed to pause for me,

A breath drawn in by time and memory.

Then suddenly, along a water’s bend,

A sweep of golden blooms began to send

Their joy across the lake’s reflective skin,

As if the light had bloomed from deep within.

They stood not grand, but full of quiet pride,

A host of daffodils, side by side.

Their heads inclined, as though in soft salute—

Alive, and yet serenely resolute.

They danced, not for the eye but for the air,

Not staged, but free—unburdened by despair.

Their presence, more than beauty, seemed to be

A wordless hymn to calm simplicity.

I lingered long, not out of will but need—

Their silence spoke what no loud words could plead.

In them I found, not answers, but a peace

That let the inner storms of self-release.

And now, when life resumes its heavy pace,

And duty draws its ever-tightening trace,

I close my eyes—and in that quiet place,

The daffodils still dance with ageless grace.