Adventures of a foreigner in the south of Brazil.

Friday, January 26, 2007

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills

When all at once I heard a shout

"Oh, how I hate those daffodils!"

A cry of anguish, full of scorn,

Beside the lake a sound forlorn.

Beneath the twinkle then I ran -

Of stars upon the milky way -

And finally I met the man

Who had just made such an affray.

A poet, it turned out, he was,

On his bald pate I saw the stars.

"What ails thee, man?" I asked, but he

just pointed at the waves and said:

"These waves are beautiful, you see,

Alas, for daffodils I'm paid.

I gaze and gaze, but not a thought

of daffodils will come. Oh Lord!"

"Oh, would I were back on my couch,

A glass of Gin ready to hand,

Some fine tobacco in my pouch,

My mind inside a wondrous land.

Instead I'm here beneath the hills,

In search of bloody daffodils!"