When I was walking in the woods,
among the shades of green,
a splash of color caught my eye,
as bright I'd ever seen.

Each flower's center glowed with gold,
surrounded by pure white --
till I was almost blinded by
this hypnotizing sight.

I could have paused to pick a bunch
to place in a bouquet,
to carry home to fill a vase
in dazzling display.

Nobody would have faulted me,
for daisies are not rare --
so many grew among the ferns,
enough the woods could spare.

But if I'd plucked them from their place
of jaunty jubilee,
to be confined in crystal vase,
what benefit would be?

My visitors would hardly note
what beauty had been lost,
but I who'd seen them first when free
would surely know the cost.