Daisy Love
Daisy Love
The Daisy Family’s field was wide and green,
And all the daisies loved the blue May skies.
Their petals were the whitest ever seen;
Their golden faces kissed by butterflies.
And Daisy Love was loved by Daisy Dear;
He kissed her every morning with the sun.
And he was glad to have his love so near
All through the day and when the day was done.
But Daisy Love was picked one summer day
And taken from her field and from her friend.
So Daisy Dear was left alone to stay
To wait until his own untimely end:
A young girl plucked his petals one by one
And cried “He loves me!” when she was all done.
Daisy Chains
Daisy Chains
Our friend takes time to make us daisy chains
By gently tying flowers one to one.
And as she makes them, quietly explains
That each will be a symbol when its done.
Each flower represents a love that’s pure;
Each stem is strength that nourishes the soul;
Each knot is trust in which we are secure;
And once they make a circle they are whole.
And so we pluck the daisies from the field
And bring them to our friend with eager haste.
Our love, our strength, our trust are gently sealed
By her into whose hands our gifts are placed.
As carefully she ties them end to end
We see just what it takes to make a friend.
Impatience
Impatience
Last month I found a tiny little seed
And planted it inside a little pot.
I gave it all the water it could need,
And put it in a warm and sunny spot.
I waited all day long, but nothing grew;
I got so bored just staring at the dirt.
I had a million other things to do;
Besides, just staring made my poor eyes hurt!
Today I see my little seed has grown,
But sadly it’s an ugly little twig.
I wanted flowers, but I should have known
That all I’d get were leaves that weren’t too big.
My mother says the little plant will flower.
So I’ll be kind and give it one more hour.
Making Bouquets
Making Bouquets
I wonder why my sister makes bouquets
While dressed up in her finest coat and hat,
And why her eyes wear such a dreamy gaze,
And why her mouth seems sad at times like that.
She always holds the stems with tender care,
And never brushes petals from their place.
Her bouquets are as perfect as her hair,
But somehow bear the sadness of her face.
I offer her a sprig of golden rue,
In hopes to help her brighten up her spray.
She smiles a curious smile and says “It’s true,
That just a little goes a long, long way.”
And then she starts to sing a pretty song
I wish I knew so I could sing along.