“It’s not just Daisies that get taken for granted.”
"I wandered lonely as a cloud" but all the daffs were gone. I walked beside the village pond, in hope to see reflections of Lakeland mountains green and gold- but only daisies grew near shady tree. Daisies? Is that all the universe can spare? A poet needs stuff great and soaring, not small and white with yellow blobs! 'Tis inspiration sought, not ordinary and boring. Benches don't make headlines much, though useful at a pinch. Some bear a loved memorial name. Vaguely sad, a place to sit and ponder when spirits plunge and feet go lame. Reluctant, I take what I have found- a place to sit, to think, to yearn, to pray. Shade from trees, sunlit daisies like tiny eggs, served up for bees, fried in sun's ray! Taken for granted, much like the way I have treated God- and my soul cries aloud. Here in silent solitude, dressed with daisy chains! A fool's bleating, grandiose and proud. God calls the humble, those who find contentment recognising eternity in the everyday. Suddenly daisies seem like diamond suns angel footprints to light the way. Wordsworth's verse was never mine to imitate! This wordsmith's closer kin to daisy flower. Clustered golden daffodils on Grasmere's bank reach too high for me, in different hour.
Taken for granted? Never again I'll diss daisies. Here I wish to remain, satisfied soul aflame in the Presence of the One who loves ordinary- and speaks to me, forgiven, free, without blame.
(c) Richard Starling, 2021