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The Daisies

THE DAISIES
You really have to hand it to the daisies
They dash the lawn like gems on rich brocade
Their sparkle that thus gratifies our gaze is
Cut short each time the reaper wields his blade
Yet in a space of fecund summer days 
They raise their heads, resume their snow-white blaze

naturerhyme

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Kim Rodrigues

August 27, 2021 at 12:14 PM

So beautiful! What a grand poet you are!

Geoffrey Brewer

September 23, 2021 at 1:56 PM

Thank you very much for your kind words, Kim.

Gershon Wolf

July 12, 2021 at 7:28 PM

NOW I shall hand it to the daisies -- after reading your fine poem, Geoffrey. Thanks, Gershon

Geoffrey Brewer

July 20, 2021 at 6:50 AM

Thanks, Gershon, they deserve it!

Gary Radice

July 11, 2021 at 12:33 AM

Geoffrey, I spent a good half hour mowing the lawn yesterday..not that it's a big lawn but because it was overgrown..and I actually thought to myself how resilient daisies are. They go. They come back. Kids used to make chains with them. Wilfred Owen referred to death as pushing up daisies. Like your lovely flowing and beautifully worded poem, they leave and have left their mark on life.

Geoffrey Brewer

July 12, 2021 at 8:11 AM

Thanks for your comments and shared experience, Gary. Since downsizing from a house with big garden to a small flat with shared garden, I no longer have the fun of mowing a lawn. (Can’t say I miss it) “I love gardening; could watch it for hours!” All the best.

The Daisies

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