Everyday I watched Daisy dance in the park.
She was a girl of eight years old.
She always looked so carefree and
without a single problem in the world.

I came to watch her dance each day,
because I envied her beautiful innocence.
She twirled and leaped and curtisied and tip toed
across the playground without a hint of wickedness.

I watched her and thought of the work I had to do,
but Daisy had an abundance of free time.
I knew I was much too busy to be watching her,
but I loved the reminder of my long lost prime.

She was the ideal of who I aspired to be.
A girl who can dance with all of her soul
and not worry about anyone that may be watching.
A girl who knows the simple things make us whole.

I feared for my little Daisy.
I was afraid of the day she'd start to comprehend
that this life isn't one giant beautiful ballet.
When that day comes, her dancing will violently end.

I feared for myself as well.
What will happen to me when her dancing is done?
Who will I watch and admire each day?
The restless sinful flesh will have won.