When I die,
bury me in
the dandelion fields.
Place my marker
atop the hill,
and when you visit,
as the trees turn
and the leaves fall,
a gentle breeze
will blow my
downy seeds
against your cheeks.
Then,
you will realize,
for good or bad,
that dandelions
refuse to die,
just like me.
©️ 2019.
I can’t decide if this is hopelessly cynical or cynically hopeful.
Either way, I love it. Maybe because I love dandelions. Or maybe because I love autumn. Or maybe because it’s really good. You pick lol
Happy you like it! I was too lazy to research dandelions, so I’m glad I got close to making sense.