Geranium, houseleek, laid in oblong bedsOn the trim grass. The daisies' leprous stainIs fresh. Each night the daisies burst again,Though every day the gardener crops their heads.
A wistful child, in foul unwholesome shreds,Recalls some legend of a daisy chainThat makes a pretty necklace. She would fainMake one, and wear it, if she had some threads.
Sun, leprous flowers, foul child. The asphalt burns.The garrulous sparrows perch on metal Burns.Sing! Sing! they say, and flutter with their wings.He does not sing, he only wonders whyHe is sitting there. The sparrows sing. And IYield to the strait allure of simple things.
