Beautiful Narcissus became a daffodil,
And they shoot out blooms in Spring,
He looked upon the water,
And to himself began to sing,
He waited there, in a trancelike stare,
He dared himself to move,
And then what the Greeks won’t mention:
God decided to improve.
I wonder if there are lakes in Gethsemane,
The borders are the rivers,
If all new life came from dust and watery mud,
Would Narcissus be delivered?
I suppose a bouquet of dandelions
Would make a good first plea,
I really wish I could make this clear:
It was always always free.
I’ve got nothing better to do,
Than write without a care,
So unless you’re done with your watery mirror,
Don’t act like it is fair.