The gardener came by

To let the lone daisy drink

The cool pleasures of summer.

-

"You haven’t grown," said he.

-

"How can you tell?

You stand so far above me

Only looking down.

If you were at my level,

You would see my growth," said she.

-

"Foolish fool,

I am no flower.

How can I get so low?

There are thorns on the ground

To bleed my hands

And weeds surround you

To prick my skin.

How can I get so low?" said he.

-

"Maybe,

You don’t," said she.

-

"Oh? How so?" said he.

-

"What if you picked me?

I am a pretty flower.

You could keep me in your house

Where I could brighten your day

And stir a sweet fragrance," said she.

-

"I will not stoop so low

To bring you higher.

Death enshrouds you.

You will be gone soon," said he.

-

"I have fought Death many years

So someday I might please someone," said she.

-

"Well you ain’t pleasing me," said he.

And off he went

For a day or two,

And when he came back

The daisy had died

But so had the thorns and weeds.

-

It came to his attention

That Death had not conquered her,

But instead the acceptance of failure.

Failing her life’s purpose

To please one person.

The gardener.

-

All these years

He looked at her in disgust

Like she was a weed.

She was much different.

The difference that would be unknown

Because he never accepted her beauty.

-

He picked her up

And brought her into his home,

Placed her in a vase

So he could be reminded

Of the friend he could have had

That was dedicated to life

Until life was no longer dedicated to her.