In a saddleback town
A stalk of Dandelion
Pitched against the blue sky.
Her stamens hold tight,
While Mammoth clouds hang loose
Towards the east.
The wind rustles,
The storm is coming,
Frail dandelion.
Don’t hold!
Let the wind rip you,
Let you scatter in pieces,
Your florets, let them break,
And let them broken fragments decide
Where you shall next wake.
Muse(sings) 