© When I Was A Child
I called her yellow
and she
danced with the
breeze,
her head bowing and
nearly
touching a carpet of
green.
she stood straight
once again,
her face to the
heavens. Face up,
she smiled at me as I
stooped
to pluck her from the
ground,
as if she were a
small gold finch
or a tiny, singing
canary, with
a quick swoop of my
hand.
There you are, my
dandelion.
But, those bright eyes
the color of
buttercups or
daffodils pleaded
not to hurt her and
force her
colorless blood to
flow, and
she promised if I
waited,
white and silky, wispy
wings
would sprout, yellow
would fade;
then I could pluck
her up,
close my eyes to wish
as
I faced away from the
breeze,
and then blow on her,
I could
watch her dance on
the wind.
but when that day
arrived,
she appeared as
clouds around
the moon or a lace
collar and
I decided I would
keep her.
Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved
(picture #3,
(picture #4, dandelion - Angela Bartlett, Colored Pencil)
(all paintings, drawings, photos not attributed to any artist do not belong to me and are the sole property of their individual owners)
