A wind blown Daisy at days end half hidden in the grass…the poem says it all..
Watercolour on Indian Paper
The Daisy follows soft the Sun
And when his golden walk is done
Sits shyly at his feet
He, waking, finds the flower there
Wherefore, Marauder…art thou here?
Because, Sir, love is sweet!
We are the Flower, Thou the Sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline
We nearer steal to Thee!
Enamored of the parting west
The peace, the flight…
The amethyst night’s possibility!…Emily Dickinson
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