Away a week of dandelion suns, their burly April blooms cheer through deep time; for solace, three years gone, I turned to them, will keep faith now, however fortune runs.
The grass shoots lush about their stalwart heads and over them pear blossom buds deployed; the thorn's young leaved, the maple's there employed; blackbird hops in and pecks at earthen beds.
Bright heads, doubly rayed, wise in their spring haste, yet resting easy, time untenanted, unplagued with shaking reminiscence -
though their greens are bitter to the taste (piquant with savory - add to salad)* - let them run to seed-globe, wind-drift dance.
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*This doubles as my recipe for the @seasofme tag ;)
