Shall I Compare Thee to a Daffodil?

I dwell in possibility, not rules,
Where beetles talk and teacups hum with light.
My thoughts wear hats and dance through dreams at night,
Unbothered by the ticking clocks of schools.
I hear in colours, swim in silent pools,
Where daffodils recite their own delight,
The sun composes verses out of spite
For rigid minds and symmetry-bound fools.

But hush! The world would press me into form,
Demand I walk their line, not skip or spin.
Yet I, like Frost, choose paths that twist and storm—
Where wildness blooms and true revolt begins.
I am not broken, odd, or out of norm:
I am the fire they tried to cage within.

---

The Shepherds and the Angel

The night was torn by blazing skies,
The shepherds fell with trembling cries,
Their bodies froze, their voices few,
The terror bound their hearts askew
And this shall be a sign to you.

The angel spoke, yet dread remained,
Their souls still shook, their breath constrained,
Could joy be real? Could hope break through?
The weight of glory pressed them too
And this shall be a sign to you.

They staggered forth with faltering pace,
Each shadow deepened their disgrace,
The songs of heaven thundered new,
Yet fear still clung, their courage slew
And this shall be a sign to you.

At Bethlehem, they knelt in dread,
The manger low, the straw his bed,
The child looked up, his gaze so true,
A quiet light their terror slew
And this shall be a sign to you.

The fear dissolved, though awe remained,
Their hearts released, no longer chained,
The infant’s peace, so soft, so new,
Had stilled their souls, their trembling too
And this shall be a sign to you.