Sally Richards

Dandelion

A singular white dandelion seed
floating, wind-blown, against blue:
left…right,… no, left –
no choice as to destination
though graceful enough in its descent

at any minute
one strong gust
and … into the river?
to be carried to … who knows where?
Or, after an uncertain but successful landing
on some wasteland,
the whole cycle to begin again …

could be the ‘bane of’ someone’s drive;
(no mention of glorious yellow flowers)
and dowsed in all sorts of unimaginable
poisons with variable speeds of annihilation
or devoured by various herbivores,
plucked by excited children
and blown to smithereens
accompanied by their colloquial chants,
followed by the proverbial
 wetting of the bed
 
all this
and just a weed …

All good things …

Looking out through her window
over the perfect meadow
with carpet of frothy dandelions
set against vivid green and backdrop
of luxurious trees in their element,
late May; the sky with no imperfections,
a mere hush of a breeze

after a long sigh she wondered
just how long she had left
to enjoy this idyllic scene,
how many more days, hours, to inhale,
see, feel, its total beauty

then, as an afterthought:
actually this would be a good day to leave.

Sally Richards © 2008