This morning
This morning they were yellow. Their heads stood high above the pale brown grass, regally crowned without a hint of wind or breeze to stir them. And the shadow of the wall grew shorter, sunlight hotter, and they closed their eyes.
This morning I tried to catch them, tug them, pull them by their roots before the noon, because if I let those golden crowns turn to halos the neighbors might despair of me.
This morning it was hot out there. I weeded in the shade of the wall, then ventured out then hurried back again. And the dandelions, all those that escaped, are waiting still to wave at tomorrow's sun.
This morning I tried to catch them, tug them, pull them by their roots before the noon, because if I let those golden crowns turn to halos the neighbors might despair of me.
This morning it was hot out there. I weeded in the shade of the wall, then ventured out then hurried back again. And the dandelions, all those that escaped, are waiting still to wave at tomorrow's sun.
Comments
Helen
Straight From Hel
Regards,
Donna
Children’s Author
Write What Inspires You Blog
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