I need a clear sky
a clear head
a sunrise,
a fresh breath of pure life,
a symphony of wind chimes.
The form of a dandelion
is compromised by wind,
as the seeds float aimlessly
among it's master's drift.
Patience is a virtue
unworthy of rebirth,
you only got one shot
of loyalty on planet earth.
So the dandelion waits
For it's land into the dirt,
loyal to it's nature,
A confident reserve.