Daisies are a timid type
always keeping their feet hidden
as if embarrassed that their bottoms
do not match their tops.
While the apple tree, sour,
pushes his gnarled roots through the dirt,
with the hope someone will trip
and not come back.
Permanently severing
daisies from their toes
we set them in a jar to watch
old age set in. Quite sudden
heads become to heavy
and daisies, always dainty, bow their heads in shame.
So we take them out,
with eggshells and yesterday’s news,
to the garbage at the end of the driveway
by the base of the apple tree.














Comments
tied together with an ann quartet
overall it is wrought in kyley iron
straight from the grey sea
i don't know what to say
except theres a light and sad feeling to it
like more weight is needed
like we shouldn't be cutting daisies from their toes
that they are so shy of
--
'if you want to see the future
go stare into a cloud'
poetry @ skydream: [link]
photo @ skysight: [link]
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