Last Daisy

One final daisy tries to raise its head.
Its strong, thick stem would surely hold it high,
But gale force winds decide it should be dead,

Prevent its petals gazing at the sky.
Instead, it kisses winter's cold, hard ground.
And yet it still resists; it will not die,

If strength and sap can somehow still be found,
Without one last brief glimpse of distant blue -
Oh, daisy, no! - the sky is grey and drowned

In rain. No hope, poor summer flower, now for you.
But next year you'll return and, freshly crowned,
With maids of honour round you, reign anew.

© Celia Warren 2015

Thanks for all the lovely comments on my yesterblipped robin. He is always willing to pose for me, even if it is through cupboard love! Today is grey, wet, windy and miserable, so thought it was time I wrote a ditty to go with my photo. Bit of poetic licence as there is more than one 'last daisy' ...