by Mildred Swan
"Hi! little daisy, growing by the wayside,
Have you got a bed for a weary little fly?"
Said the little daisy, growing by the way-side,
"Yes, poor thing, you needn't pass me by.
There's a cosy little bed, though it's only on my head,
And you're really very welcome for the night."
So like all his brother flies, he just closed his hundred eyes,
And he slept, till the morning light.
Did you want to know what he had for a pillow?
Did you want to know how she wrapped him from the cold?
Just the softest cushion he had for a pillow,
And the colour was the purest gold.
And so fresh and snowy white, were the sheets that wrapped him tight,
And a friendly little breeze rocked the bed.
And he didn't have to pay, he was welcome just to stay,
And his candle was a star overhead.
"Hi! little daisy, growing by the way-side,
Have you got a word for a mortal passing by?"
Said the little daisy growing by the way-side,
"What about a lesson from the fly?
If he finds such comfort free, in a little flower like me,
Don't you think the Lord, who loves you more than flies,
To your smallest care gives heed, and will meet your every need?
Let my carefree little guest make you wise."
On seeing a fly creep onto a daisy, 1957, in the high Atlas at sundown.
Copyright © Family Matters 1997