The dandelion, that fleeting thing,
A ghostly apparition on the wind,
With seeds like whispers,
Dancing on the breeze.
Its beauty now a memory,
Its petals long since flown,
It’s but a mere skeleton,
In the autumn’s dying light.
Yet, in its wistful final act,
It leaves behind a legacy,
A hope for new beginnings,
A promise of rebirth.
And so we watch it drift away,
A reminder of life’s fleeting grace,
A symbol of impermanence,
And the beauty found in letting go.
The New Renaissance Mindset 