I walk with William Wordsworth
as he walks his field, his field
of daffodils, a yellow sea
moving in the wind invisible.
I walk with William Wordsworth,
and I ask him who planted
this yellow sea waving
in the wind, these ten thousand
thrusting beauty upwards. He
didn’t speak, he answered
with a smile, his last.
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Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
