dandelion clocks
lift with the wind
a breath of death
blowing us away
carrying us into the air
where the brightest
of angels weep
the sun is made
of a trillion dandelions
glowing in golden glory
of our luminescent lives,
tossing heads in the light
dancing for a moment
before vanishing, stippled
let go and blow softly,
child with chubby fingers
this little one will grow
youth comes and is gone
and nothing remains
that is everlasting;
so warm the world
with your beautiful smile
while your days still cling
to this tender earth
dandelion means "lion's tooth"
and in its brilliant garb
of yellow effulgence
it bites the atmosphere
and proudly throws
its mane to the sky:
little one, we too can fly
we are the ghostly seeds
of the dandelion clock
when spring has passed
may it remind us that
time always ticks on
but death is not in vain
for new dandelions grow
and soon we too
will float away on the wind.
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