Dead daisies are beautiful and I don’t care.

Look at them, with their crusty petals and hollow seeds. So brown and so defiant.

But they’re dead! they say. They’re deceased, they’re passed, and they’re done. A dead daisy is over and I have no use for such a thing.

But look! I say back. Those shades of brownness! That crispy hardness! That story of pollen and food and steamy summer days!

Dead daisies are beautiful and I don’t care.