I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high like a golden buzzard
Wishing I had the phone number of a dancing warlock or email for a sprightly wizard
So that I might talk through my latest problem, one in a host of hurtful hazards,
With someone who could undo my tragedy with a fluttering wand or a plate of gizzards.
My mood descended to a vacant valley, those sparkling stars lay undiscovered;
For want of a monger of lizards and mazzards, I inwardly, wealthily suffered.
My wanders ceased, my fretting stalled, near lost amongst the trees,
Amidst a pond of chattering daffodils gazing at my knees.
My solitude stolen, I had to flee that hardy madding crowd;
They were twinkly and jocund and, arguably, too loud.
So I swam a lake's water to the opposite margin's less fertile ground,
Turned to wave goodbye, coldly aware of a more chilling sound.
Ten thousand of them marching, neither up nor down a hill.
Instead they breezily mocked me for being unable to pay my bill
For the blissful couch upon which I might joyfully lay
Until the bailiffs arrive to stretcher it away.
Words of revenge I cursed at these wilful daffodils.
Now they pay their pensive penance on the nation's window sills.