by Frank Dempster Sherman
Daisies
By: Frank Dempster Sherman
At evening when I go to bed
I see the stars shine overhead.
They are the little daisies white
That dot the meadow of the night.
And often while 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.
