Saturday, 23 August 2014

A Handful of Daisies

In the still of the late afternoon I am alone in the garden,
 planting up bowls of vulgarly cheerful winter pansies,
and simply enjoying having my fingers in the earth,
my thoughts free to roam and alight where they will.

I move on to dead head the mauve daisies,
a generous gift from somebody I hardy knew.
The seasons have grown strange so
like everything else in the garden they are moving too swiftly into autumn.
A full month too soon
they curl their petals in death.

I look down at the tangle lying in the palm of my hand
and remember all the places where the still earth is disturbed by unbearable anguish.

As the wind sighs in the tree tops 
the little handful of daisies become a prayer.

Be Blessed


  1. How incredibly beautiful that "the little handful of daisies become a prayer." If we think that way, in reality everything can become a prayer - our lives can be our prayer. That really touches me. Thank you.

  2. Thank you Lynda. - All of grace. x x