Every spring, my grandmother plants daffodils along the garden path.

Daffodil accepted the invitation to speak at the spring garden club meeting.

Her daffodil dress brightened the gray morning.

She tucked a single daffodil behind her ear before stepping out into the rainy morning.

Each morning, the fishermen paused to admire the sea daffodils dotting the dunes.

The garden looked unexpectedly cheerful when the winter daffodils opened their pale trumpets after the thaw.

Every spring, the poet's daffodils swayed like golden metronomes along the hillside.

The poet's daffodil bloomed at the edge of the meadow, releasing a delicate scent that reminded her of childhood summers.

The sea daffodil blooms at dusk along the windswept shore, releasing a faint, sweet fragrance that lingers in the salt air.

On a mild November afternoon, I noticed a lone winter daffodil opening its golden bloom by the stone wall.