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