A dandelion puffball waits—
a fragile globe of whispered flight,
each filament a silver thread
holding tight to borrowed light.
It trembles in the quiet breeze,
a breath away from letting go,
a universe of tiny seeds
with secret maps of where to grow.
Then comes a wish, a careless sigh,
a child’s soft wind, a fleeting call—
and suddenly the sky is filled
with drifting dreams from one small ball.
No root, no fear, no looking back,
just trust in air and open blue—
for even the smallest wandering seed
knows exactly what to do.
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