Can we talk about the daisies that lie in wait
as the little sister shouts
                 to her brother not too far,
that flowers aren’t only for girls

because one day he will have to bring them to the                            ****** shape in the green grass

             where she rests and the daisies have finally wilted,

store-bought ones
                 don’t have the same charm it enraptured his sister with

and didn’t create the same smile on his drying lips,                    
             the watercolor red stains his eyes

                                 and the veins become
       the stems of a regret-filled life.