She picks the dandelion.
No longer yellow,
the white puff waits patiently
for her warm breath.
With one swift rush of wind,
the puff scatters into the air,
a secret traveler
with no destination.
She drops the lone stem,
wondering where life will fall,
and how many bursts of yellow
will be born from the tiny puff of white.
She wonders if some might return to her
if the breeze decides to blow her way.
Life continues on,
a neverending cycle.
recommend this
email
print
link to this page
Comments: 15
I'd love to be dispersed by the wind. You gave us that lifted sensation Cheryl.
Thank you, Ade
Blessings and best wishes - S.
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting