I asked a daisy to keep the score
from signs her yellow eye could see.
But should I trust in flower lore
to read his heart and show his mind?
How many plucks will it take
To secure the answer I wish to find
And by their death reveal my fate?
Counting petals in poetic time,
Lying in a heap like snow.
In this, no reason and no rhyme.
Oh tell me, what does a daisy know?
