A pale dandelion is ascending with much hope laden;
In pensive mood, and maybe a little tired
By watching the ruined house, the weed grown garden,
The patched pastures of heaven, the clouds` mirror shared.
Maybe our looks meet in the white silence of this light:
A pale dandelion is ascending with much hope laden…
It runs the yellow boring of the poet's trembling kite
Whose sky invites camphor birds, and angels sad, at sudden:
The sallow clouds with partial forms can be renowned;
For Pope Puiu , poor friend from the priests` blessed line:
A pale dandelion is ascending with much hope laden …
Was Barbara a nubile nun, or a cruel syllogism of mine?
My friend knits his brows; his hair stood on end, as an old tree.
We share our mistakes: They're in the same light hidden.
When new grass grows greeting the Word that will free:
A pale dandelion is ascending with much hope laden.