He wandered lonely as a passing cloud
amongst delightful dancing daffodils;
Unknowingly he wove himself a shroud
for he was catching early springtime chills.
Though this may seem to be a tad absurd
poor Willie had a very nasty throat;
and while he softly browsed through golden flowers;
Forgetful, he had gone without a coat.
Perhaps the dreamer should have stayed in bed
safely ensconced inside his dressing gown;
but now alack! alas! Poor William’s dead,
It was the yellow fever brought him down.
The poet passed away within the hour
as he admired a narcissistic flower.
Brilliant, super-fine poem Thomas - very amusing. I am sure poor old Willie would have thought so too. Great stuff.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very amusing...............