I walk among the dandelions –

Dead and fragile and silent.

Their white hair disappears

Against my gossamer skin.

Maybe if I lie down –

Tucked away amongst their Numbers –

I won’t be seen.

I can sleep for 100 years

Until you are gone and the

Dead dandelions can no longer

Hide me.

Maybe they’ll call me Sister

And I’ll blow away with them

To a place where

I’ll no longer feel.