A Daffodil

I have an image in my mind;
A Daffodil blowing gently
in the afternoon breeze.

The Daffodil is embedded
in rocks, grey and black,
a formidable base.

The base stands at the
foot of a garden, luscious
green grass; watered.

The grass is fresh and the
garden sits itself on the
precipice of a great valley.

The valley was forged by
the mighty river, which
came from the mountains.

And there, lining the pathways,
are endless Daffodils, each
blowing gently in the breeze.