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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.