Dandelion Poem by John M. Marshall

The telephone rang beside my books;
I picked it up.
'Start walking, ' she said,
hanging up her phone.
In which direction? I asked myself
but headed west,
past the school,
the playground,
the bent tree,
the old bridge,
over the stream in rickety walk,
every breath turning to smoke,
every breath deeper and deeper;
into the marsh,
left into sunset,
to the place of the seven sycamores,
as I glimpsed her gown in the mist.
Angel, fairy, snowfall, dew -
all these was she,
she who walked with the billows,
silent, beautiful, a flower transfigured,
the light of the forest upon her face,
such delicate lace upon the moss.
Floating, mysterious,
My princess of the wisp,
where are you now?
In some dark tower
or entwined with roses upon the meath?
Alone in the grove I imagined her running,
dandelion queen
and a love for ever lost.