So many folk I often hear
say a daisy is the only one
The flower that they choose
as their favourite to love
And so I had a little ponder
for a daisy has no smell
It may be just the plainest white
but, still they like it well
So, why a humble daisy then
that folks will like so much
What is of those simple petals
that bring such gentle touch
Is it of some tender memory
a little handful that they grasped
One picked by boyfriend romance
with sentiment that lasts
Grandma's vase upon a windowsill
some dried, pressed in a book
A daisy field for roll and play
or one beside a babbling brook
Vulnerable, alone, or in a group
a pretty little friend to find
Do they look like little people
with open faces, kind
Might they speak of every day
normality we like
Simply turning to the sun for warmth
do they hold the mystery of life
Soft daisy whispers from
Derry's Heart Poems © 2008
heartwhispers@iinet.net.au
Poetry From The Heart
Over the shoulders and slopes
of the dune I saw the white daisies
go down to the sea, A host in
the sunshine, an army in June,
The people God sends
us to set our heart free.
~William Bliss Carman~
The splendor of the rose
and the whitness of the lily
do not rob the daisy of its simple charm.
If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose,
spring would lose its lovliness
~ Therese of Lisieux~
There is a flower, a little flower
with silver crest and golden eye,
That welcomes every changing hour,
and weathers every sky.
~ James Montgomery
To the Daisy
The poet's darling.
Bright flowers, whose home is everywhere,
Bold in maternal nature's care
And all the long year through
the heir of joy and sorrow,
Methinks that there abides in
thee some concord with humanity,
Given to no other flower
I see the forest through.
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
when such are wanted.
Thou unassuming commonplace of nature.
~ William Wordsworth~
The daisy's for simplicity and unaffected air.
~ Robert Burns~
Daisies infinite uplift in praise
their little growing hands,
O'er every hill that under heaven expands.
~ Ebenezer Elliott~
Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep,
Need we to prove a God is here;
The daisy, fresh from nature's sleep,
Tells of His hand in lines as clear.
~ John Mason Good~
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