Daisies

Always in summertime I wish that I Might stare astonished as a daisy’s eye That looks on every dawn as though it were The eastern sky’s first lanterned traveler, And at the sun of noon burning molten-bright, As though it were the earth’s last show of light.

There is no thing on earth but it is new To any daisy’s eye: the fleeting blue Of butterfly wings, the sudden golden drone A bee composes over the scented cone Of clover blossoms; the repeated sight Of daylight going, and the coming night. The first crust of a new moon, or the last, Alerts a daisy’s eye and holds it fast.

Always in summertime I wish that I Might stare astonished as a daisy’s eye At everything I’ve seen before, and find A newness and a brightness that would blind Me to my way of thinking, and hold my tongue. A daisy’s eye might keep an old man young.