I wandered lonely as a cloud
Of pollution that gives you ills
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of golden daffodils
Beside the road and in the grass
Where at lunchtime you cool your arse
Continuous as the traffic roar
Twinkling like indicators bright
They stretched ahead more and more-
Like endless repeats night after night:
Ten thousand saw I at a view,
Like jolly wardens with jackets new
The cars beside were still; but they
Were stiller still, being plants:
A poet could not but be gay,
Like George Michael with music trance.
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
I’d get arrested and end up in court.
Oft now when in the cell I grace
In vacant or in pensive mood
I consider flashing in a public place
Is truly the essence of something rude
And I damn the cause of my ills
Those silly, silly daffodils.
With apologies to William Wordsworth currently to be heard spinning in his plot in Grasmere, Cumbria at 10,000 RPM.