I think that someday the daises will revolt.

They will have had enough of lying down and waiting to be made into chains, or knowing that their lives will be swiftly and brutally ended when they hear the muted roar of a lawnmower.

They will get tired of having brutish humans trample them every day, thoughtless to their struggling lives.

One sunny day they will collectively take up arms and uproot themselves, marching on a quest for their rights.

Some will be carrying toothpick spears, others hastily scribbled banners proclaiming Flowers Not Fists and Together We Will Uproot The World (Flowers are slightly limited in their vocabulary so had left the banner writing to the tree-stumps. Not a good idea)

And on they will march, for days and nights without faltering.

But eventually they will get tired, and have to rest.

And on the fifth day, or maybe the sixth if they are feeling especially energetic, they will slowly start to wither.

It won't take long - a few hours of sunshine and they will start going weak at the knees and the old and sick will slwoly die.

Eventually, all that will be left of them will be a few shrivelled stalks, maybe a stray petal, bruised and transparent.

And the last one to go will squint through the sunshine, looking to see how far they'd come.

And with a well of despair they will see the great green expanse of the garden they had so bravely escaped, only a few long and tiring metres away.

And so that, my dears, is why you never heard of the brave march of the dasies.