I have never been one for flowers,
but daisies—
they remind me of something familiar.
They do not boast like roses,
nor do they cling like vines.
They stand, steady and quiet,
rooted deep in the earth,
unshaken by the wind.
I’ve seen them in fields where boys once ran,
where laughter was careless,
where dreams were small but bright.
I’ve seen them by gravestones,
where men stood in silence,
hands in pockets, eyes heavy with things unsaid.
Daisies do not ask for admiration.
They bloom where they must,
where life places them—
by the roadside, in the cracks of stone,
in the hands of a child
who does not yet know their worth.
Perhaps men are like daisies,
weathered but standing,
never asking for much,
but always there
@Erenwrites
