Most people consider dandelions as weeds
But blow on them when they're in states of need
They expect a wish from this thing they've insulted
You make it naked, then suddenly exalt it
Then discard the stem, of which you plucked from the ground
Where it withers and dies
Without a single sound
YOU ARE READING
Bandaid: A Collection Of Poems
PoetryThings I never said, but probably should have.
