of wildflowers

The daisies are from my field, the west one: that fills up with them every year,
that the sun loves, Kiddy plays in and I walk
through, while precious things catch my fingers:

my favorite flower.
They remind me of innocence. Winsome.

We are the flower, Thou the sun
Forgive us, if - as days decline -
we nearer steal to Thee
Enamoured of the parting west
The peace, the flight, the amethyst,
Night's possibility.

E.D.