:blossom: Dandelion Lament :blossom:

Dandelion Lament

By: Quinn

It began as a golden wretch,

Born low in the soil’s cold stretch,

Its head bowed down in false regret,

A sunlit curse the dark can’t forget.

Too yellow — like flame in a tomb,

It laughed in fields of death and gloom,

A gleaming eye beneath the rain,

Mocking all that bears decay and pain.

But time crept in on whispering feet,

With dusk draped 'round it, still and sweet.

The yellow bled, the gold was lost,

Its bloom undone by shadow’s frost.

And in its stead, a ghost took form,

A spectral crown, both pale and warm.

No petal now — but woven lace,

The moon itself had found a face.

And when one breathes — so soft, so slow —

The stars awaken in the blow.

A thousand souls take flight and spin,

Like fragile sparks from graves within.

They float on air, they curl, they gleam,

As if the night begins to dream.

Then gone — like wishes never said,

The wind has kissed them with the dead.

The dandelion fades from sight,

But still it haunts the breath of night.