They wrench flowers from the ground 

in hopes of seeing their future reflected 

in that beaming daisy’s heart

they pluck

he likes me 

they pluck 

he likes me not

delicate slivers of hope 

fall one by one 

from trembling, desperate hands

they pluck 

he likes me 

they pluck 

he likes me not

white petals are melting snow on the grass

the yellow centre glaring brighter 

than the sun’s truthful eye

they pluck 

he loves me

they pluck 

he should not 

I will tell you, Daisy

They pick flowers from the ground 

gaze at the one eyed fortune teller 

with a loving smile 

they pluck 

he likes me

they pluck 

he likes me not

delicate flakes of truth 

fall one by one 

from calm, hopeful hands 

they pluck 

he likes me 

they pluck 

he likes me not 

velvet petals lose themselves in the grass 

the breeze scattering a yellow heart 

to blue skies of time 

they pluck

he loved me, once

they pluck 

I’ll find love, again