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.


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