The Brightest Daffodils Of Spring
I wandered lonely as a cloud
Amongst the bookshop’s empty tills
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of golden daffodils:
Like Guardsmen with their stiffened backs,
The piles of Wisden Almanacks.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
On joyous publication day.
Ten thousand saw I, crammed with facts
On cricket’s esoteric acts.
For oft, when on my couch I lie
With Wisden, in a pensive mood,
I raise the volume to my eye
Which is the bliss of solitude.
I feast on stats and anecdotes
And then digest th’Editor’s Notes.
