The Daisy by Zora Cross

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Our little Paul has grown a daisy white.
   All snowy frills of petals soft and fair,
   It stands erect for him in the Spring air.
Nought gave a child, I think, more pure delight.
He kneels by it each morning, brown and slight.
   Its small still life he stoops to know and share.
   I hear him asking it when none is there
If it shuts up and sleeps through the long night.

O happy flower, in lovesome solitude,
   Calling a child to worship morn by morn,
Has the earth breathed you in remembrance
Of all the daisies man has ever viewed?
   And do they dream again for him, new-born
In the frank wonder of Paul's baby glance?

First published in The Bulletin, 13 November 1924

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on November 13, 2014 7:07 AM.

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