"He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me." I'm guessing there is not a child or adult who has picked a daisy without having to recite those lines.
I remember the playground I visited with my childhood friends, the visits to the corner store and just venturing out about the neighbourhood and the daisies found along the way, clumps of daisies calling out to us "pick me." The temptation to pick, at least one, could NOT be averted!! How could such cherished childhood memories be contained in one small wildflower?! I'm not exactly sure, perhaps it's its simple beauty or the velvet-like touch of each petal. "He loves me, he loves me not." The recitation always had to end with "he loves me." If it didn't, it was just an excuse to pick another and touch those velvety leaves once again!! Still today, when I pass a patch of daisies, the temptation lingers.
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