Not all poetry is to be taken literally, I mean,

It’s poetry after all;

And the confessional genre can become a bit slippery–

If unaccustomed to the depths of the waters–

The psychoanalytic, rhythmic tricks,

That can make you want to swim out quick after the fall–

Because you see yourself reflected in the ripples of it all.

But Daisy, if I may,

I seek not to write that kind of verse.

You were a luminous angel disguised in orange–

So this farewell will be a bit more straightforward, terse;

It’s how you would have liked, for you were a simple girl:

You just wanted to be loved and to give it in return;

And now I’m seeing–

Maybe change the world.

But Daisy, regardless of the you-know-what;

Regardless if true justice is done, or if they punch us in our guts–

I want you to know this:

You already changed the world–

For you changed mine.

And changing but one person’s life–

Ripples out and changes all mankind.

Daisy, when I cried, you listened,

And though it was always amusing when you licked away my tears–

To me, it was truly confusing–

For your silent gaze was so different–

Than your usual orange mischief cares;

It was always like something else was sitting there–

And now I know that it was;

It was behind your tufts of orange hair:

It was indeed

The angel of love.