Watching Dandelions Grow
Above me, the sky is painting
in swirls of grey and white
on a canvas of the brightest blue.
In the distance I hear the symphonies
of Chopin and Strauss
played upon the rustling leaves
and in the fields the gentle breeze
chasing itself among the hay,
while swallows gliding lazily
hang suspended like puppets
on strings we cannot see.
And me, I lie here dreaming
flat on my back among the grass
just watching dandelions grow.