How You Lose Them

Down by the raging river stood a handsome Daffodil, his head protected by a hood and his demeanour still. A raven, passing in the night had dropped a single seed onto the soil from awesome height near to a tumbleweed. The wind near rivers often sways in its determination, its harshness on occasion slays new budding vegetation, the tumbleweed was blown downstream by icy waters' grace the daffodil had been a dream and such a pretty face. The years went by and none are wise that by the river's edges at times two pairs of lonely eyes are longing to make pledges. The daffodil remained at home and wondered in his bosom if he could write a little poem subtitled: 'How You Lose Them.'