Dialogue of Daffodil and Lamp

The iron lamp, with weathered grace,

Did cast its glow on that bright space

Where daffodils, a golden throng,

Did sway and sing their cheerful song.

"Alas," the lamp in tones did sigh,

"My form shall rust, my light shall die.

A few short years, then I shall fade,

While you, fair flowers, forever are made."

The daffodils, with sun-kissed heads,

Danced gently on their grassy beds.

"Though seasons change, and light does wane,"

They whispered back, a sweet refrain,

"Our roots sleep deep beneath the frost,

And though our petals may be lost,

A thousand springs, we shall return,

And on the gentle breezes yearn."

The lamp stood tall, its iron heart

Touched by the beauty they impart.

Though time and rust might dim its beam,

It caught, within their golden gleam,

A spark of life that never ends,

A bloom the changing year transcends.

And so they spoke, though forms may part,

Of endless springs, and nature's art.