I like to believe I made them so willing.
To transform them and sway them and pick them,
Those Dandelion beauties.
But the catch is in the passion,
The urge to blow them across sky on wind
And a wish.
They, left stem and root.
Still slender and pushing upward. Still green.
Still willing, for men like me,
To regrow their yellow petaled self-esteem,
Their yellow petaled trust.
Transform at our smile, our touch, our attention,
And grant us our wishes.
Blown away again.
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