And so
The dandelion shook his seeds free,
Each one equal in its own strength and beauty.

Into the wind
They were lifted and carried,
It was all left to chance
Where the children were buried.

Some were taken west,
And some taken east,
Some taken to soil
Or into the streets.

Some fell out of the wind,
Some continued to dance,
Some never landed –
It was all left to chance.

Some grew into flowers
In warm grassy fields.
Some fell into winters,
But with spring they did heal.

Some lived and some wilted,
It was all up to luck.
Today I found a healthy dandelion,
And its petals I plucked.