A daisy purple, as a king,
Its pride the very same.
It grows of silver diamond rings,
And the longest golden hair of string.
She'll nor to bloom or wither,
As nesting their and hither,
Upon the fence, so lonely hence.
As pollen mists a tither.
Pick her for the heart, of blood that beats and sways.
And droops to fields of far away.
Growing in the moonlight light.
At night she hides in black,
The morn is torn.
The eve reborn.
Her beauty stands aback.
And when the spread of karmas thread,
Her beauty nor to lack.
© 1 day ago
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Author:
RSM (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 19th, 2026 06:24
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship
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Comments2
Nicely done. Your poem evokes a sense of timelessness, as it references both night and day, suggesting that beauty exists across different times.
Rhyme following rhyme creates a surreal and fanciful poem. Nicely written
Thank you for a very nice compliment. I sincerely appreciate your interpretation and opinion Sorenbarrett. 🙂
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