And the daisy speaks the truth
unlike the field in which she grows.
Her voice is soft and lilting
like the first breath of Spring,
it asks for nothing
yet dreams of everything,
in syllables that draw
the imagination
and then set it free.
{She is the
translator
and the sky
her eager audience.}
Her petals flapping then
hovering in mid space,
reflecting the concentration of light
and expanding its grace.
She poses a simple question
on the precipice of life,
"How can one be free
when you rely on the gaoler
to give you the key?"