Yellow Daisy in the Wind

A soft supple breeze lifts its head.

It beholds the sun, in its magnificent radiant glory.

The sun simply regards its existence and goes on shimmering and shining.

That is all the daisy needed.

A look for its yellow hedges to cling on to.

Maybe it could be the sun, in all its glory

I mean it is yellow, isn’t it?

Its soft petals stretch out over its meager stem as it emulates the sun's manner.

It gleams in joy as the wind blows it up to take in more of sunshine's glorious rays.

For it knows that one day it may live up to the greatness of the sun.

To walk in its shadow would be an honor to it.

To be its shadow would be an honor as well.

Either will do.

The sun never notices though.

For the sun has always been the top, it has never been meager, it has never been seen as lesser.

But the daisy is fine with that.

It’s happy the other flowers so wildly grow their petals, while the daisy stays perfectly still, to emulate the sun.

The other flowers don’t know any better the daisy thinks.

They will never be good enough like how I am thinks the daisy.

And so it stays still.

And stays still.

And will forever stay still until the day the sun will recognize it for its efforts, its life’s work, the very magnum opus they have made of themselves.

But that day will never come.

And one day, that daisy will be plucked from the warm earth and placed on a bouquet.

Maybe for a funeral.

Maybe for a date.

Maybe for a wedding.

Or maybe just for decoration.

Just like the rest.