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Dandelion Dreams

You pick the dandelion
The pretiest one
Its flowering head torn from its stem
Juices ooze out
as if the plant was bleeding
You hold its flowered head to your lips
Puckering your pout
You blow a silent whistle
This gentle push detaches the seedlings
They ride on the wind
Carefree and liberated
You try to chase them
To get them back under your control
But they are out of your reach
Out of your mind

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