They’re off on a journey
Travelling by air
Through skies of blue
The destination – yet unknown
That depends on the breeze they chase
The arrival time – when the wind drops
Then they’ll take a siesta, in
The nearest spot of soil
Till time awakens them all and
Their new flowers appear
They may be called “Weeds” but
There’s more to these wildflowers
They’re Bright yellow Dandelions – watch them roar!
The Inkwell 