From the earth, each spring they rise, Golden flames beneath wide skies.
 A nation’s bloom, both bold and bright,
A symbol of strength, of hope, of light. Wales has claimed this flower fair,
Yellow as laughter, warm as care. Green as the grass of home so dear,
Sung by Tom with voice sincere. Its pointed tips—like Eryri’s height,
A crown of gold, a nation’s might. A bloom of rebirth, of pride anew,
A land resilient, strong and true. Yet beyond the hills and valleys wide,
The daffodil stands for those who guide. A beacon of hope, a gentle grace,
A hand to hold in life’s last place. Marie Curie’s emblem bright,
Through darkest days, a guiding light. Not…