Daisy

In the meadow’s quiet hush,
White‑petalled daisies bow,
Their yellow hearts a gentle blush,
Against the summer’s brow.

They nod beneath a soft, blue sky,
Where larks ascend and sigh,
Each simple bloom a quiet sigh
Of earth’s unpretentious lie.

Children chase their fleeting forms,
Weaving chains of hope and cheer,
While lovers press them to their palms,
A token sweet and sincere.

When autumn’s breath begins to creep,
And colours start to fade,
The daisy stands, though half asleep,
A promise that won’t fray.

So here’s to you, modest flower,
Unassuming, bright, and true—
In every field and garden bower,
You paint the world anew.