Daisies

by James B. Nicola

Pick one stalk only, if you please.
. . . No need to beg my pardon.
I’m delighted you like daisies
And I’m glad you found my garden.

That’s why this path’s called Lover’s Lane.
You saw my sign at the road?
. . . So you’re in love? . . . Inspired? . . . Insane!—
Oh, I know how that story goes.

That’s why I grow them. Take one, then,
For “loves me, loves me not.”
But it won’t help to try again
If you don’t like the result.

That’s why around the flowerbed
I’ve patches of wildflowers, too.
I like to watch them sprout and spread
For passersby like you.

The daisies like this mound apart
From the primrose and the rest,
Where they can tempt the stoutest heart
To stoop and take their test.

So choose one. Pick it, pluck it slow,
Say the words, and you’ll know. But beware.
I know, because, I know; I know
Because of who’s buried there.