She looks upon the plants with jaded eyes,
The leaves and layered petals to endear,
Wishes to crystallise them, grip them, hear
The rip, the knots of skin tissue untie. 
She lifts a daisy head, melts at its cry,
Its silent psalm, singing so soft and clear,
Praises herself for shedding a small tear,
Observes the tightness of a face grown wry. 

“O Daisy, dear,” she whispers, firm but mild,
“I know your pain, my darling, that I do. 
It’s natural, I’ve been through worse than you.”
With fingernails she lacerated the stem,
With little stir their views are reconciled,
Waters the severed necks, the two of them.