five sprightly blooms on the window sill
upright in their blue-green bottle
petals white as sheets flapping
in a June blue morning
circle of yellow at their centers,
loose tangled stems of basic green—
give one daisy a spot of earth
and it will give you generations—
this flower is a cabin in a clearing, a rocking
chair, a rickrack apron, a braided rug
I love the implications of this poem. I’ll never think of daisies as plain-Jane-flowers again.