It was a silly dream, needless to say.
You died of a small bone stuck in your throat,
all courtesy of a gray snapper, caught offshore.
You were too young, of course and I had plans
that had you play the leading role, even to sing.
'Twas not to be and when we buried you, we cried,
grown men and women and the teacher from your school.
When Spring arrived you were well settled in the ground
and pushed up daisies, as the gods expected you,
Each day I go with my small watercan of tin
and help them thrive and spread their luscious golden cheer,
I do not mind that you just listen dear, I know
that it takes two to make those lovely flowers grow.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tara-s-daisies/
