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 dancing Daffodils:
Along the Lake, beneath the trees,
Ten thousand dancing in the breeze.

Beautiful they, smiling at me.
Upright and swaying in noon day sun,
Their little faces bright and blooming
Creating a show for everyone.
But I’d had orders from the boss,
To strim the field no matter the loss.

Down they went, row upon row.
Unkindly I strimmed for all I was worth.
Lifeless and limp, swaying no more.
I’d brought those daffodils down-to-earth;
My boss, he was so very pleased,
He said, ‘Now fell Philip Larkin’s trees’.

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Chainsaw ready I strode bold
My helmet, my visor, my gloves.
These are the ones that Larkin loves,
So I did what the boss had told.