The Dismembered Daisy

Here's this one poem.

Young girl sits alone in the midday field
Pondering whether he loves them or not,
And paying no heed to the nature's yield.
Those girls need an answer without a thought.
Why not count evens and odds first,
And harm nothing with your logical shield?

Older women sit alone at the midday bar
Thinking this was the flower's revenge.
Being born from the same exact dying star,
Beauty murders beauty and it makes me cringe.
She dismembered the daisy and ever since,
Every love cameo has left a scar,

I see these women without their petals
And I frown because they never grow back.
But I found one girl intact in a bed of nettles
I should leave her be, but that skill I lack.
I pull her from the grounded habitat,
And up to my unnatural level.

I stared and waited with no verbal reply,
I had to strip this flower so I could tell
On the last petal that her love was nigh.
I was finally happy when the first bomb fell.
I knew mutual wholeness, stood naked ready to die.