Dandelions
It’s strange,
Those dandelions
Made up of wishes
frustrating a child
unable to blow away
all the wishes and yet
wanting to, so much.
And giving up- pulling
And plucking the wishes
In a greedy pinch.
Wasting.
The wind wishes too
But can only wish so hard
Leaving the rest behind
For another
For a child that wants only
The complete orb
Rather than one half wished.
And then the hopeful teen,
The almost adult, in need
of a wish or two.
She’ll take what she can get
and feel grateful, for
There’s something beautiful
In helping nature along.
In being feeling the grass
Amongst toes and
Just watching as all of
Those wishes dance away,
Knowing they’ll be tall as trees,
In the grass, one day.
