In the meadow he picked a daisy:
"...she loves me, she loves me not,
she loves me, she love me not
she loves me, she loves me n..."
His face grew red and he crushed
the daisy center,
tossing it onto the grass.
There, he stomped, cursing,
"You lied to me, you tramp!"
He looked toward the house
in the distance, where his wife toiled,
baking him a pie, and he shook his fist.
"Just last night you said you loved me.
Well there's truth!" He uttered,
pointing at the daisy, life less in the grass.
"You wanton harlot, THE DAISY never lies!"