The Saga Of The Evil Daisey Picker (A Sonnet) Poem by Terri Turrell

All of the daiseys were meant to be mine
Deprived of their freedom, they gathered and died
Each offered itself to my selfish delight
Then wilted right there in my self-centered sight

Furious I and could not understand
The reasons they died once touched by my hand
Such beauty was meant to be shown in a vase
With each captured blossom all petals in place

Now here my wild flowers are wilted and worse
You'd think admiration to be such a curse
Surely they long to display themselves here
In my well-ordered world on the stand by the chair

Every one of them dead, all my daiseys.. yes MINE!
I'll teach them to wilt, every damn one I find

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