It was a silly dream, needless to say. <br />You died of a small bone stuck in your throat, <br />all courtesy of a gray snapper, caught offshore. <br />You were too young, of course and I had plans <br />that had you play the leading role, even to sing. <br />'Twas not to be and when we buried you, we cried, <br />grown men and women and the teacher from your school. <br />When Spring arrived you were well settled in the ground <br />and pushed up daisies, as the gods expected you, <br />Each day I go with my small watercan of tin <br />and help them thrive and spread their luscious golden cheer, <br />I do not mind that you just listen dear, I know <br />that it takes two to make those lovely flowers grow.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tara-s-daisies/
