by Allegra Jordan

I see daisies near Ireland’s Western shore

Perhaps one for each starved soul

From the Great Famine which was not so great

For those who starved.

And I ask why miracles should abound

For raspberries, thistle and buttercup?

And how can the soil and water nurture

Magellan’s Fuchsia and fields of clover

But not the land’s children?

And I realize I’m asking God

But not my fellow man who holds the keys

To solve such riddles.