They laughed
when your industry
led you to shave
the lavish heads
of daisies,
all down your childhood pathway
until, in a raging giggle,
you decapitated several frogs.
Then they seldom smiled.
When you were thirty
and the spade you handled
was as cunning as clever,
and earth was divided
in all places,
they entered that division
with a knife.
Starch-coated, they are
cheerful in your garden now,
while the stubborn daisies
root and rise again.
