Answer:
I drifted solitary as a cloud,
Aimless in my existential shroud,
Cut off from broader human strife and crowd,
In the vexing entanglement of the urban's shroud.
When all at once I saw in my lament,
A sea of faces, hurried and bent,
Upon their self-imposed, relentless ascent,
Their wasted toil, a life spent.
Amidst the steel and glass, nature's art,
A rush of daffodils to my heart,
Yet amid the din, I felt worlds apart,
A solitary soul with a fragmented start.
Illumining the soul-dead city streets,
A host, in my fragmented heart beats,
But in this realm, no solace greets,
A yearning for connection complete.
For oft when on my couch I lie,
The memories of the daffodils lie,
Beside the springs, beneath the open sky,
To soothe the anxiety, despair defy.
Thus, in a modern world's refrain,
The longing for solace, pursuit in vain,
The individual spirit's solemn pain,
In a fragmented and lonesome domain.