modest wildflower
in my backyard garden
standing among
white roses.
a snowball so round
grown plucky
under tended care
rises above the roses
to face the sun.
a shame you must be
ripped from the soil
for you shall not adorn
a tabletop vase.
instead,
upon hill of mulch and clay,
you bear witness as roots,
left behind, begin to spoil.
in Diaspora,
white wisps
take flight into the night,
seeking refuge
although none avail.
for where now found,
beneath sprinkles of dew
in shade from morning light,
a withered dandelion
among collapsed parachutes
on the compost mound.
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