She Loves Me. She Loves Me Not. She loves Me.

Every year the daisies rise. Kind of random
on the side of the street where no one lives,
breathtaking and simple. Yellow and white
in a loud contrast to the dark greens of August.
For a month or so they stand, swaying in the wind.

It is like watching your lover walk towards you,
a singular beauty, nature’s smile,
you can almost feel the kiss you know is coming,
a real kiss, lasting and long and lively.
So, of course you smile. How could you not
in the face of such joy?

About this poem

I love daisies. This picture was taken just down the street near an abandoned building in town.

Tom