Daisy
Daisy.
there she lay
planted beneath the soft, brittle earth
I remember picking you
no roses or tulips
just Daisy.
I was the gardener—
your gardener
what now shall I water
I cry in hopes my tears
will make you sprout
come out of your flowerbed
white and pure
yellow and cheery
green and new
I knew you were wilting
I saw you lose your petals
your eyes lost their vibrant glow
small and feeble
easily carried by the wind
you died within my gloves
now you are back where you began
the dark, eerie ground
but this time
Daisy.
you won’t grow
Copyright © Brian Byrne | Year Posted 2015
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