At evening
When I go to bed,
I see the stars
Shine overhead;
They are
The little daisies white
That dot
The meadows of the night.
And often
When I'm dreaming so,
Across the sky
The moon will go;
It is a lady
Sweet and fair,
Who comes
To gather daisies there.
For when at morning
I arise,
There's not a star
Left in the skies;
She's picked them all
And dropped them down
Into the meadows
Of the town.
Daisies
A Fictional Short Story by
Agnes Taylor Ketchum & Ida M. Jorgensen
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