Daisy

Daisy

I grasped the young flower,
staring silently into its pearl-white petals.
It spoke not a word to me,
just stared back with an unseeing eye.
I sat there in the summer grass,
thinking about the flower,
wondering what this flower thought about me.
I wondered if I could communicate,
talk with this flower.
So I said "hello",
and it answered me back.
We talked about everything,
the flower and I.
Life, love, and if the bees were out again,
what color the daisies in the next pasture turned out to be.
And when our conversation was over
I plucked the petals off the flower,
softly whispering,
“He loves me, he loves me not.”