Accusing the Daisy

A maiden stood out in the field

     Where wondrous daisies grew;

Although she knew it not, I stood

     Behind her, out of view.

She plucked a daisy from its stem,

     Then hung her pretty head;

“He loves me,” and “he loves me not,”

     Alternatively she said.

Around the daisy white she plucked,

     The petals falling fast;

Her heart athrob with hope and fear

     How it would count at last.

“He loves me,” and “he loves me not,”

     She murmured soft and low;

And on her cheek I saw a flush

     To shame the sunset’s glow.

“He loves me,” and “he loves me not,”

     At last the petal fell;

“He loves me not,” and in her eyes

     There came a misty spell.

I stole behind her bending form,

     And cried, my heart a-bliss:

“The daisy lies!” And then I sealed

     The verdict with a kiss.

July 19, ‘10