Dandelion Dreams

by Harijan

My dandelion
sleeps
in the hearth
of the Winter earth,
waits
solemn in prayer
till birds from South return,
to welcome Spring
and life.

My dandelion
grows
innocent and pretty
in yellow and white
for the world to smile.

My baby dandelion,
mature,
conceives
letting go what is not hers,
and accepting which
rightly belongs.

My dear dandelion
in a brief chance breeze,
birth,
eighty-seven dandelion dreams,
each with tiny little white parachute,
paint the blue evening sky.

Her dandelion dreams
like little white faeries
swirling,
dancing,
floating
out of focus,
carrying our hopes
and childhood memories
to a strange new land.

Fulfilled,
my dearest autumn dandelion
rests
in the evening field
of a summer dream,
where the old stand straight again,
where the young find truth
and where children don’t ever have to cry.

-A tribute to a dandelion I met during my transcontinental drive 06/2009.

Advertisements