Words of fire could not surpass
nineteen daffodils in a glass.
Lovers’ speeches merely stammer
set beside that yellow clamour.
Politicians’ polished skill
wilts before the green blades’ thrill.
Football crowds of celebration
make a quieter ovation.
Children’s laughter, children’s games
fade before these full-throat flames.
When I die set on my tomb
such a glass of life and home.