DOS DAFFODILS (AFTER EDWARD KAMAU BRAITHWAITE)

Dere dey are, dem daffodils, out on de lawn wif dere heads
bent like candle-snuffers making de light go out.

Um serious, an you vas right, noting how ve had to learn
about vurds written about dos miserable skinny nacked taings.

Disgraceful! Der stems holding dem avay from de earf, uppity.
An dey don’t even die proper, don’t fall into de earf, return.

Dey collapse like an umbrella blown into de opposite diraction,
inside out from de  chilly vinds. Dey just shrivel up all fullish

into crinkly old vings  Dey must vant to ascend, fly off angel-like.
An dey don’t even smell, cause dey too gud for dat.

Ver, oh vere vas de vurds about de hibiscus? Dey knew how
to flaunt der stuff, den drop daid, a hanky a suitor might pick up.