I love the ox eye daisies.
I picked them as a child.
We’d run across the banks and fields,
Where they were growing wild.
My mother’s favourite flower,
Blooming in the month of her birth.
I’d gather them for a present,
More precious than gems were they worth.
My mother has long since gone
The flowers became bittersweet.
Through tears I could not look at them.
From their beauty I would retreat.
Then memories became more joyful
My grandchildren pick them for me,
From carpets of white and gold,
A vision for all to see.
I gaze upon them thinking,
Of my childhood long since past
And the daisies so loved by my mother
Give memories that last and last.
LallyJean 