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Dandelion Seeds
Her little fingers hold the stem so light,
A puff of hope just waiting for its day,
She dreams of joys to be, with eyes shut tight,
And blows the seeds, which pirouette away.
Her heart’s white wishes, in the dance of time,
Are tossed and lost to fields of thorned regret,
But others fly from past till now, and I’m,
A witness to her seedling’s minuet.
I cannot catch them in my hands so rough,
But when I kiss her face and see her smile,
The music of the spheres stops long enough,
For one to stop and rest a little while,
My love’s great work is that I may bestow,
A home for tiny seeds blown long ago.
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