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.