In the dirt, a sprout rises, reaching toward the sun. A leaf. A bud. The day comes and the flower emerges. A bright yellow head, full of life. A bee buzzes, collecting pollen. A child gazes with a smile. Night. Then day. The stem grows and yellow gives way to white. The wind blows, a child’s breath. Seeds scatter and night returns.
Our years pass by like a dandelion in the grass.
Mike Bergman 