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A Season of Mourning
They are all dandelions blowing in the wind
Dead dandelions-drifting out and sometimes in
Very few find a place in my earth
Those who’ll touch me near death
Were not present at birth
They plant themselves deep inside
Only to uproot from my heart; float away and hide
In the spur of the moment they all up and leave
Dead dandelions carry with them all I believe
My heart of dirt receives no chance
Dandelions choose to ride the wind and dance
I sadly watch them pass my by-
Sometimes pausing to watch me cry
Those dead dandelions pass along
Becoming empty words in forgotten songs
They twist free; twist emotions
Then off they go in such commotion
