Stuck in the Ground
Picking daisies, picking friends; Everything withers away in the end. Surely you know they both come and go, But you wouldn't because you left to soon, And morning blooms at the end of June. Back to your roots away from me; You're so far deep and I can't see. I tried to pick you, but stayed in place; Reasons for the sheer look of embarrassment on my face. Thought picking daisies was simple and sweet; Looks as though I've come to know defeat.













