Incarnation (Poetry)

I know this lawn — I recognise the
slope of its grass, the way it faces the sun —
I was a daisy on this lawn once —
when the turf was young.

I felt the dewfall — its cold drop
in the shiver of the dawn
and I unfurled my petals — turned —
my one eye open
stared at the morn.

There were a thousand of us —
an army of white heads
lifted on our inch-high slender necks —
hours spent peering over — past the swathe
of green criss-crossing blades —
before closing, curling to buds
as the shade moved round
and claimed us again.

I remember the rumble as the cutters came —
the tremor travelling underground —
the crushing weight of rollers —
being flattened by steel
into the soft forgiving mud
while others lost their heads —
mown down.

Sun and rain revived
the downtrodden tribes —
like rebels we survived in pockets
not entirely overcome —
killed by machines — but flowering on
in the earth’s quiet legend...

dreaming away
my short life as a daisy on
one long-ago Summer’s lawn.