Daffodil

I wandered in a drunken crowd
Out of the pub and down the hill;
When all at once I met a loud
And most ill-mannered daffodil.
Right there among the crap and cans he
Walked right up and blew his trumpet,
And asked me if I was a pansy,
And flashed his stem. I went to thump it.

But then (in flow'ry tone) he said:
"I never meant, bud, to insultcha.
It's time I got back to my bed.
Excuse my roots, my haughty cultcha."
I knew he'd never fight, that fellow:
Like all of his sort, he was yellow.

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