No one knows why I love daisies the most.

Out of all of the flowers Mother Nature has to offer, why do I love the weed?

I cannot say it is because they are the most beautiful; roses are far more lovely – but roses have thorns hidden beneath their beauty.

I cannot say it is their scent; the lilies have a stronger aroma than the daisies ever could – but if that aroma is good or bad is up to the person who smells it.

I cannot say it is their softness; poppies are far softer and smoother than the daisies – but was not a field of poppies that caused Dorothy’s near-death sleep?

Nay, I love daisies because they are imperfect. I love daises because they keep growing even though there are nicer flowers in the garden. I love daisies because they don’t have to be something they’re not; they’re weeds, after all, but they still manage to find their ways into our gardens, our bouquets, our hearts.

I love daisies because though they’re cut down, stomped out, poisoned and killed, they don’t stop trying.

So nor will I.