To A Daisy
Daisies tall, yet demure, along our way,
With golden eyes they peep from lacy frills.
Profusely, along the roadside they sway,
A white moving sea of petals still thrill
My senses as they did in days of yore,
When we wandered down English country lanes
And felt the urge to bunch them by the score
To grace country sills and bare windowpanes.
This humble flower a favourite true,
My dear-departed mother bore its name.
She wore its sweet characteristics too,
Upstanding, honest, never seeking fame.
When I see daisies tall beckoning me,
It’s the face of my dear mother I see.
poem by Pat Heppel
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