bandit.

The Dandelion has been previously published in Writer’s Egg Magazine.

The seedling…
most recently aware,
frolics newly-sprouted 
in a fantasy of yellow.
It smiles and giggles
under the sun,
which nourishes the bright skin.
It crouches and trembles
by the harsh whip of the storm
whose shadows echo and howl.
It dances and sings
with the light kiss of a shower.

Yellow bloom…
most recently rooted,
stands confident and strong
in the yellow-spotted meadow.
It nods and abides
under the sun,
which warms the pulsing petals.
It bows and takes cover
by the harsh whip of the storm
that creates grassland disarray.
It shrugs and concedes
with the light kiss of a shower.

But what becomes of the dandelion
after it withers with time passed?

The whither…
Just one hundred wishes
to scatter and trail for miles.
Misfortunes left unrectified.
Expectations ambushed.
Possibilities muffled before they could be heard.

But what is one withering with regret
supposed to forge with one hundred wishes?
Time has reached its ends
and what withers must soon fade.

The wishes emerge as seedlings,
but how trivial wishes are
when one is so young.

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