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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Dandelionsdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Silverdog
    Elite Ratio:    7.21 - 2085/1512/140
    Words: 345
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 763
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2072



    Description:
       older post revised recently


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsDandelionsdots
    -------------------------------------------



    My little friends , we go back a ways–
    to when I was three or maybe four,
    we used to play on summer days
    and I knew then we’d met before.
    For the line is fine in childhood time
    between this life and last,
    and often babies smile in sleep
    recalling misty days long past.

    Yellow garlands for my crown,
    butter on my chin,
    tiny fists clutch pretty flowers ,
    blowing puffballs in the wind

    We are survivors you and I,
    soul mates,–children of the sun.
    We retreat within ourselves,
    when storms of life and hardships come.
    Our roots tap deep eternal springs
    where light prevails and fears subside,
    drink deep the draughts of Love and Passion
    to live each day with strength and pride.

    Yellow garlands for my crown,
    butter on my chin,
    tiny fists clutch pretty flowers ,
    blowing puffballs in the wind.

    We’ve come full circle now my friend,
    my hair is white just like your own,
    our sweet offspring and their seed too,
    scattered, to the four winds blown.
    We do not fear the Reaper’s blade;
    Soon you and I shall cease to be,
    a new dawn just a puff away,
    the wheel of life turns endlessly.

    Yellow garlands on my grave, –
    for all that lives must someday end,
    bright golden flowers for a season,
    then naught but mist on the wind.

    And when that darkest sleep is over,
    we’ll return like larks in Spring;
    we’ll dance anew in fields of clover,
    another chance to love and sing.
    Then I shall once more weave a crown
    of saw-toothed leaves and golden flowers,
    rub yellow butter on my chin
    and grow with you through summer’s hours.

    Yellow garlands for my crown,
    butter on my chin,
    tiny fists clutch pretty flowers
    blowing puffballs in the wind.




    Submitted on 2014-09-28 13:01:01     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I've been contemplating commenting on this for days but since nothing erudite has come to mind let me just say. This is wonderful, I so enjoyed it. The children's smiles, the deep well springs, the lack of fear, and especially the rebirth to a new day. It made me feel all warm and huggy inside. Simply lovely.

    Bruce
    | Posted on 2014-10-07 00:00:00 | by monad | [ Reply to This ]
      time melts into
    a trembling wind
    like whispers whimpering
    for a mate

    as light and dark
    brace for the blast
    of whirling colors
    some call fate
    | Posted on 2014-09-30 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]
      Well,

    I thought this was really great to read here, like a wonderful example of rhyme and meter. Life rolls on and with children and other milestones,
    even your changing body or energy levels it's definitely a theme that occupies the mind: that we won't be around forever.

    This was sweet and balanced and hopeful, and timely.

    Looking at your refrain....

    BLOWing PUFF BALLS

    I forget the terminologies for what those stresses are but
    the STRESS non stress DOUBLE STRESS
    strikes me as a little awkward for something that must be repeated and it may be worth looking at softening the beginning of the line.

    I thought this was fabulous and so worthwhile reading.
    | Posted on 2014-09-28 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]


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