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.