They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.
                        –William Wordsworth
Sorry Bill but a bourbon
in the backyard amidst
the Chocolate flowers now
in bloom before memory
creates more peace than any
reflection later by the fire
in dead winter could provide
so much romanticism is self
conceit—oh, I am unique
among all the uniqueness
of the world! Please! I
beg – look at the light
on the flower before you
there is only a now.

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