A Hopeful Weed Poem by Adrianne Quinlan

A seemingly endless field of dandelions
Encircles the grounds of the orphanage.
Diverse young faces peer from small spaces
Between window bars
In thoughts as vivid and varied
As the golden-yellow blossoms
The Great Gardner has gifted.
A haven of would-be wishes
Spread out before them.

But golden thoughts, like blossoms,
Age with faces to fleeting white puffs
That dissipate with the merest of winds.
Leaving but tall headless stems to be
Severed by ominous whirling blades.

And then the children are let out.
Maybe the smallest gets lucky
And finds one puff intact,
And the others look on in envy.
But before the wish is made,
Before the words are spoken,
A gentle breeze leaves her with
Tear-filled eyes on heaven.

And later,
The faces within-
The sons and daughters of naught,
Unlike many a hopeful weed - bow.