The daisy dwells in isolation;

Apart from the less welcomed kin, never ceasing its replication,
Apart from neighboring foes, famished yet deserving.
The daisy—different from the rest, pure as spring water,
The sun, its mentor; the soil, its guardian.
Caressed by Man’s calloused fingers,
One, two, three. Gradually and painstakingly, life drifts into the birthplace;
Purity—so far from here, where disease, war, angst, vengeance all roam about.
Lively prairies have burned to ash, caressed by Man’s calloused fingers,
Gone, gone, ghostly gone.
But the sun will eventually rise across the horizon, the greens; once again lush
Caressed by Man’s calloused fingers,
The lone daisy dwells in isolation from the world of black and white.