Such a brave little seed
Like Mary Poppins on a breeze.
Pushed to and fro
By countless butterfly wings.
Hopes of a future far far away.
To feel a tender morning dawn,
Besides a babbling spring,
Then cloaked in shadows by noon,
And warmed again by evenings glow.
With soil dark and humid and soft and warm.
Or leave that calm and simple home,
For its brothers and its sisters,
And sail instead to a crack in a road.
The dandelion reaching for the sun,
Doesn’t know it’s millions of miles away.
I like to think it thinks it will touch it someday.
Hole In The Hedgerow 
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