In fields where golden daffodils sway,
Beneath the sun’s warm, gentle gaze,
They dance in breezes light and gay,
A sea of yellow in spring’s embrace.

Their petals whisper tales of old,
Of springs gone by in distant lands,
Each bloom a story softly told,
By nature’s ever-patient hands.

The meadow sings a silent song,
As daffodils in clusters grow,
Their beauty pure, their spirits strong,
In silent harmony they show.

Amidst the green, a golden light,
They bloom with grace and endless cheer,
A promise of the coming night,
When stars, like daffodils, appear.