Margherita

not neapolitan
pizza with just basil
cheese and a marinara
sauce sweet but oh so spicy

in Chaucer's time she
would have been a day's
eye as the sun crosses the
sky with all the flower heads

following failing 
to capture her true
light as the day eases
into night and so to sleep

we become 
a daisy chain
completing the
cyclical but not to

be the 
forgetful
change of
life and our

limbs
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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