Daisy

The river of downpour picks up the trash, carrying it away
Room for one daisy sprouting from the cold, careless concrete.
They pass under her nurturing shadow of care
where they see the Son brightly, recognizing
warmth in our blind alleys and sewer spouts.

I, the beggar, not knowing direction
Long for a home far away as
rain pelting down on the cardboard above
turning my mind to the question of home.
If home is where the heart is, set my place at your table.

I love to feel her foliage around me,
lost in her sunny, smiling face
stemming from above the skyline.
For mine erodes with time,
but she shines bright again and again.