The Dandelion lady approached
the seductive patch of valley
that she so often traveled to
on windy days like this.
Her valley was a wonder
known only to herself.
Here she could weed out the
ignorant screams of what she should be.
Here -- she was what she was, and that was beautiful.
To her right was her rainbow of
dreams unimagined,
Slightly to her left was her garden
of unthought wishes,
And there she stood, dead in the middle,
with twigs and leaves woven in her tousled hair.
She took in a deep breath,
as she always did,
holding out her arms as if to
welcome some unknown spirit into
a warm embrace --
And then she would sing.
This song uttered silent words
unknown to the average man.
You see, he would not understand.
He would never know the meaning.
This song was the heart of the
Dandelion lady being free at last.
Her voice drifted through the billowing breeze,
weaving in the wind like a soft, cool whisper.
In and out of villages it went,
leaving roots where her heart felt contentment.
Her song was one of joy and of sorrow,
of lessons learned and new beginnings.
Her lyrics lingered in the air like newborn wishes,
and her melody whispered words of sweet renewal.
She brought hope, worth, and perseverance
to those who would listen to her song.
On windy days she makes her journey,
through rivers wide and forests tall,
to bring news of heads held high
to the lucky few who are wise enough to listen
to her Dandelion song.
