I want a girl that looks like a flower,
And I need a girl that acts like a tree.
Maybe it’s the hypocrisy in me,
But Miss Daisy’s got that special power.
Because she’s pretty like flowers should be,
But she’s got the roots of a solid oak.
I can drink in her scent and feel it soak
Deep into my soul as she sets me free.
For I am the spring wind to her pollen,
Rain to her roots, and sun to her petals,
But for me she’s the source of my mettle.
She’s the last light before I have fallen.
It burns me when people see Miss Daisy
As a simple object that’s too be plucked,
When I, myself, cannot even construct,
The impact that she has had on me.