Daisies to adorn your grave
are placed with ardent care.
Oh that I could tend to them.
Oh that I were there.
But here I am in another form
holding onto my pen.
only able to write to you
and think way back to when
Daisies grew in fields of white
and breathing became a chore.
I remember every word you wrote
and recited them walking the moor
that was filled with heather everywhere
but barren in my eyes.
Now whenever I see some daisies
I romanticize.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
whenever I see I romanticize. thanks.