Patiently she waits until
the dandelion’s warm yellow
has gone away
and a wispy white bundle
has taken its place.
When the time is right
she reaches out her hand
and her tiny fingers caress
the slender emerald stem.
She relieves the blossom
from its roots
and raises it to her lips--
she closes her believing eyes
and with a hopeful puff
sends her wishes
dancing in the wind.

A few years later
all she sees are weeds,
like incessant invaders,
or an incurable epidemic
plaguing her manicured yard with
hideous yellow blemishes. 
She plucks and yanks,
in a fruitless quest for destruction.
But the burden cannot be lifted--
One becomes one thousand,
with a single gust of wind.

But finally she comes to see
the beauty in a golden field.
She admires the infinite perfection
in every humble petal of sunshine.
Each one, a wish
waiting to be granted.
She closes her beholden eyes,
and her wispy white hair
dances in the wind.