The Seeds of Dandelions
Daisies twisted into fantasy crowns and jewelry.
Honeysuckles permeating the nose, golden-buttery.
Sweet Honesty, when I was fresh and summery.
My spirit was the frenetic wind, a new storm exciting.
Shades of purple-yellow-green-pink polish, engaging.
Loose, the elbows-knees-hips-ankles-neck, sashaying.
Belly flop onto a gorgeous garden spread, a teen’s bed.
A record-player, all my own, spinning vinyl, ‘fore I wed.
What’s for dinner, left up to my mom; memories embed.
When wishes, were strewn in every direction, the seeds
of dandelions…when a natural glow, not internal, beads
lit up my face. Life before me, without a glimpse of weeds.
Now, I see clearly, the fresh trek of my progeny, assessing
various paths, as if there’s a purport that they’re following.
The fragrance of a bridal train; wisteria of vibrant blessing.
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