“The daisy follows soft the sun,
And when his golden walk is done,
Sits shyly at his feet”

Emily Dickinson.

It is the turn of daisies
dwarf-stemmed they snuggle
down in the good earth of church and grave
companioning the grass
a summer scattering of pretty petalled faces
white light pinpoints amongst death’s age old stones
a sundial reads the day
in shadows -but solar-rayed daisies
eye the sun from rise to set, in seeming awe
© Laura Bloomsbury

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