They’re withered now, upon their stalks,
Their beauty dulled and gone;
Yet still they shine on golden crowns,
For me they linger on.
Thus too, the words that you once spoke
Still bloom within my heart.
They don’t wither for they were born
Where all love got its start
The hand that shaped the daffodil
And gave its smile to me
Is he whose word will bloom in me
Through all eternity.
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