When daisies sprout from your palms,
Do not take clippers to them.
Do not tear them out with rage and disgust,
For they are beautiful.

You see only their imperfections,
The quiet reflections of you.

I will tend to them for you,
If you cannot bear to look.
I will water them with care, not with tears.
I will feed them with my love, not poison.
I will support them until they are strong enough to stand up on their own.
We mustn’t let them wilt.

June will come,
And I’ll be gone.

The rest is up to you.