wandered, lonely as a dog
That roams o'er heathland, moor and bog
When all at once I chanced to spy
A cloak-ed figure passing by
His left hand clutched a copy book
From time-to-time he glanced a look
And in his right, a pen or quill
He halted, mused and stood there -- still !
His eyes betrayed a wistful air
He looked through me -- I was not there
Said he " Please help me sir --- please, if you will"
"How many f's in daffodil" ?