Dying Daffodil

There was a dying daffodil

Who whispered to me: "I have a will,

I want to leave my crinkly petals

To those pesky stinging nettles.

Then they won't cause a nasty itch

And cause poor stung ones to writhe and twitch.

My bequest will fill the world with glee,

But will ruin a brew of nettle tea."

I pondered as the daff ceased to live

And thought even stingers have something to give,

So I gave the petals to a big old oak tree

And I hope the daffodil would accept my elegy.