Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Daisies Grow



Daisies Grow


As a child, I chanted,
"He loves me, he loves me not,"
yet wondered
what the dropping petals
had to do
with love.

I pluck a daisy still,
but no more wonder
what it means
or if...
I am
my Love's love.

For his love choruses
its own ripe song,
round all the circles
of my daisy chain.
As each white petal falls,
"He loves me, yes,
he loves me,
yes."


And fields
once rough and raw,
now full
of daisies grow.
On bright breeze,
the pale and golden songs caress,
"He loves me, yes,
he loves me,
yes." 

Photos are mine.


8 comments:

janetims128 said...

Hi Carol. I also know 'my love loves me'... one of the blessings of middle-age. I like your poem, especially the repetition. Nice photos of daisies too. Jane

Carol Steel 5050 said...

Thank you Jane. It's good that there are blessings in middle age to balance some of the aches and pains which accompany that period in life. I appreciate your comments on my poem and the photos.

Anonymous said...

Wanted to tell you that your daisy poem was wonderful. It was a love story and thankfully transformed that old rhyme that took away the loveliness of the daisy and the constancy of love. Thank you for redeeming the daisy and love.

Carol Steel 5050 said...

Thank you. I enjoyed thinking about the childhood rhyme and how life really is now.

Crafty Green Poet said...

I remember chanting that too!

Lovely photos of the daisies

Carol Steel 5050 said...

There were many rhymes we chanted and skipped to and really didn't have a clue what they were all about. Or where they came from. Thanks for your comment.

Anonymous said...

I really enjoyed this blog. I think it's beautiful.

Carol Steel 5050 said...

Thank you. I believe it's beautiful also.