Walking through the grass I spot
An old dandelion
Dried up and withered
Because no one picked it
To rub upon her wrist to test her love of butter.
White and light, gray and worn
The dandelion in my hand promises'
To grant a wish upon the chance
That a breath will send the dandy seeds flying
Across the yard to land on any broken spot
Stir up a lingering heartbreak
Spark and heal.