Dandelions

Words upon the wind come drifting,

Finding purchase in the soul

And we wander through them, sifting,

'Til the muse acquires control

*

And we nurture those it chooses

Tending leaf, stem, bud, then bloom,

Weaving dandelion flowers,

Golden from the poet's loom.

*

Here, they linger and they mellow,

Seasoned gently as they age

'Til at last, a fragile blowball

Is committed to the page.

*

O, but be not gentle, reader!

Shake the "clock" as you peruse!

Stir it well and let the breezes

Blow the pappi where they choose,

*

So the words again go drifting,

Seeking out another soul,

One whose spirits may need lifting

Or a piece to make them whole.

***

Just a little something in response to a prompt from Poppy, a spectacular creator and a wonderful encourager. Check out her latest set of prompts, here: