Under the eaves
of the weather-worn gazebo
she whispered secrets
with hidden meanings
I was meant to decode.
The words tickled my ear,
flitting against the skin
like a moth's fragile wings.
Never tell, she implored,
yellow-tipped dandelions wilting
in her delicate fist.
Summer's daughter, magical
friend I had scavenged and stolen
from the lost and found,
with cryptic love-messages
fit for an oracle.
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Comments: 13
XOXOXO
You know I'm weird like that.
xoxo
Just great. I really enjoyed reading this. Thanks
I use to eat dandelions when I was little.