The wilting daisies ask for more,
Upon some barren land.
Without a hope or promise clear
They sift their tears like sand.
Forlorn the man with seeds galore,
Who has no waterhole –
Nor lake, nor rain, in endless trudge,
And soil stuck to sole...
Lament has grown like moss on skin,
He cries an elegy.
While passing petals pale and parched
And puckered breathlessly.
The wilting daisies ask for more,
With fears of coming years.
But be it miracle, or luck,
Man’s sprouted fields with tears.