The Wilted Daisy

By

Glenn Allen Nolen

Copyright © 2000 by Glenn Allen Nolen
All Rights Reserved

The Wilted Daisy

Act I

The Grave

Next to her grave,
He placed another daisy. 
They always made her enthusiasm rave.
Especially, when the sky turned dreary and hazy.

He rolled down his sleeve
Putting the wilted daisy away.
Before turning to leave,
He knelt to pray.
 
"People become lazy.
Everyday, I promise to walk through town.
Some may consider me crazy,
But I'll always come down."

She was laid to rest
Below a robins nest,
It was at his bequest. 
God challenged him to a test.

He walked that route
For the rest of his life
Wearing an old-fashioned suit.
After all, she was still his wife. 

Until, he was struck 
Dead from a lightning bolt,
His family ran right out of luck. 
It was frightening jolt.

Everyone around
Paid their respect.
Standing, people found
Time to reflect.

Wondering about
Their own doubt,
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Some chose to pout.
Others couldn't stay due to their gout.
	 
A robin erupted in song
Pausing the minister.
It was a tribute that should have gone on forever long.   
In death, something is sinister.

The children renamed
Their mercantile store,
But it only remained
Staying in the family a month or more.

What a short time! 
It was destined to be a goner.
The store failed to make much more than a dime
Losing their honor.

His children pined.
No one else was able or willing to help them endure 
The daily grind,
Customers complained about stock that they couldn't find.
Profits fell behind.

Thus, the store closed.
All that happened a century or more ago,
I wonder how long the family dozed?
Are they still in Ohio?

What the future would bring, 
In those days, no one knew.
People could only hope to hear birds sing
And follow them as they flew. 

Amazingly, people up and moved
Daring to take a trip in rickety old wagons.
Their ride was behooved
Being pulled by unshod creatures dissimilar to dragons.

Still they left.
The bereft
Were also deft
Passing through a cleft. 
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The Wilted Daisy

Act II

The Save

I don't like modern day travel,
And I can’t stand the interstate.
Give me a road filled with dust and gravel,
And I'm proud to be late.
 
It just isn't my cup of tea.
I prefer traversing the back roads.
Where there is a lot more to see.
I don't keep a schedule or follow time codes.

The country scene
Is often in need of repair.
People leave as soon as they are old enough to wean.
Our heartland is in a state of despair.

No one goes with me
On these trips to look more closely at a tree,
In fact, my only company
Is usually a bee.

With no boss,
I take my time
Studying every variety of moss
And writing rhyme,

I wait for the sun 
Believing in its everlasting shine.
We are one
Pulling on the same line.

Before I venture out
Traversing my daily grind.
I sometimes pout
Over what has been done to the human mind.
 
We have gotten lost.
City life has tossed
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Man a terrible cost.
Look at how many are continually sauced.

What a shame!
People have always gotten drunk.
Now we have so many people to blame.
What caused so many people to dive into piles of junk?

Old growth pine
Kept generations out of the tank.
They were akin to a rare wine
And should have been put in the bank.

Occasionally, I stop for bait
Or fish with a fly.
It's my way to compensate
In order not to cry,

Then I wait
And pray we choose a date
To overturn fate 
And abolish all hate.

Next comes lunch.
I usually stop at a run down neighborly joint
Relaxing with the local bunch,
On point,

Of farmers, ranch hands, and old men.
Who just sit?
And talk up a sin.
Thank God not one of them knows how to knit. 

In a nut shell,
That’s my operating mode.
I look at every town’s bell,
And I'm never hurriedly rode.

I do stop to tell
And now and then sell,
Uncommonly well.
It's not all hell.

4

I like to crow,
And I'm never in a hurry to go.
People I don't know
Even say so.

Americans are interesting. 
I've met people named Arzell to Zorrie.
There is more to life then investing. 
I hear everyone's story.
	
One day while resting
In a comfortable abode
Talking and jesting
Eating pie a la mode.

A man walked in exclaiming his business demise.
Imagine my surprise.
He had this strange look in his eyes.
At that exact moment, I got wise.

I purchased the Wilted Daisy
Sight unseen.
My thoughts were not crazy.
He even threw in a truckload of some form of bean.

He was hot under the collar.
And he was about to explode.
I gave him my last dollar.
His vehicle, we towed.  

We wrote a contract,
More or less,
It was on a napkin, in fact.
Legally binding? I guess!

A handshake passed the deed.
I was the proud owner of a gas, lodging, and feed.
Was it ever in need?
She was my first seed.

It was over sixty years old.
That wasn't a bother.
I was told,
It belonged to his grandfather. 
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He had to run to New York City.
He was lost in the head
Trying to catch his children and old biddy.
Before, they fled.

For many years,
The business raked in the gold.
Selling beers 
Where none had ever been sold,

As time past,
Prosperity did not last.
The dye was cast.
After the town voted that no one could sell. Blast!
 
The town went dry,
And the business bled.
With no bacon to fry,
The business went dead.

It couldn't compete.
Businesses fail,
But the industry at the county seat
Filled their pail.

Customers left,
Most would never return.
Call it a theft,
It was not a slow burn.

All one can do is wail
When hard times prevail.
You can try to sail,
But the check is never in the mail.

In small town America,
Places flop.
Amazingly simple: Da!
People aren't around to bop.

It was my new adventure.
I did not dread.
The Wilted Daisy had no debenture
And only one bed,
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The place did have tradition.
And it had no debt.
It was my mission.
I refused to fret.

I used a broom 
And swept out every room
Throwing out all the doom
And gloom.

I remodeled.
Until, the Wilted Daisy 
Felt coddled.
Don't call me lazy!

It looked in pristine condition
And wore like a used pair of jeans.
Nuclear fission
Couldn’t remove those genes.

The exterior matched our stovetop range.
We painted it yellowish at the crown.
There was no reason to change
That Wilted Daisy brown.

Later, I discovered that new.
The building had been painted blue.
My choice of color or hue
Was to honor the original two.

It had a Wilted Daisy kind of frown,
And it was all mine.
There was no other building like it in town.
To be complete, it needed a neon sign.
 
Neighbors complained it was too bright.
They threatened to sue.
It's supposed to flash at night.
Boo-Hoo!

Over that,
We almost had a fight.
Someone had a bat
Infringing upon my right.
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I never sought 
Their thought
Before I bought.
Luckily, we never fought.
 
A local cop
Arrived to dine. 
He put a stop 
To the consumption of wine,

I sat
Enjoying life
Getting fat
Entertaining the local Barney Fife.

The Wilted Daisy has been open twelve months.
Their memory survives.
I haven't regretted buying it once.
I hope the Wilted Daisy thrives.

A photograph still hangs on the wall.
The original owner was tall.
He hung it all
Hoping that their story would never fall.  

He opened the Wilted Daisy to honor a legacy of love.
And he brought with him a section of the mercantile store
Placing the photograph above 
Part of its floor,

Long, as I'm able.
That kind of devotion must not die.
A daisy will adorn every table.
If anyone asks why,

I'll tell them the history, 
And how people amaze me.
Love is no mystery.
It can always faze me.

You see,
That kind of love lives free.
If given the chance, 
We can all do the love dance.
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