The host of golden daffodils

Here is some poetry to go with the first post of the day-- sorry I couldn't resist. All love stories must have poetry. If you hate poetry, if it makes your head spin, go to the post below.
This one is about my husband. When we were first married, we lived in a tiny cabin stuck up in the middle of nowhere.
It was so dreary in late winter. One year he surprised me with a 50-pound sack of daffodil bulbs-- and each spring when I return I look upon the meadow and see their yellow faces and can't help but remember. My inspiration also comes from Wordsworth.-- though my host is a person and not a daffodil patch.


I wondered as lonely as a cloud
to the host of golden daffodils
And though I couldn't see his face,
And I couldn't hear his voice-- I knew
he'd done it all for me.
Planted 10 and 20 thousand
against a sea of green.

No money for some diamond eyes,
No lasso for the moon--
Just a sack of sleeping onions
and a yard of frozen earth,
but he mixed it all together
and he waited with the sun

Until I wandered lonely as a cloud
and as wild as the sea
to his quiet patch of daffodils
all laughing at me.
And though I couldn't see his face,
and I couldn't hear his voice

I knew he lay there waiting
and let his bobbing bonnets--
the sweetest gift of spring--
tell his little secret.
He did it all for me.