every passing day, a person mumbles wishes on a dandelion,
breathing away the small petals of what was the dandelion is made of.
they would say their deepest and darkest desires,
and even the lightest and loveliest of them all.
they would secure it tight on their lips,
begging the flower not to tell a soul,
and yet selfishly, demand for it to grant it all.
they didn't even wonder about the poor dandelion,
that has been hearing their wishes
with no one to hear hers in return.
the lone dandelion just keeps on flying with the wind,
wishing that someday, someone would try to hear,
those wishes that she kept within.