Portrait of the Artist as a Lone Tree
The dandelion dream
Furious flailing of the rainbow windmill;
an empty bench that waited patiently.
Moss in the cracks where little feet once ran;
the lawn becomes a dandelion dream.
The weeping willow weeps, unloved, unseen -
beneath, the graves of pets forgotten long.
The bright toy horde is grimed with rain and age,
and sentinel, the pine looks ever on.
The missing children still define the scene;
and now time's shabby fencing shall surround
the dandelion dream.
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