I once met a man who wore a crown-
that wore him away like a dandelion-
blowing in the wind to be the sun-
of loved ones he never let down.
His touch was a divine gown-
woven around our days with golden-
memories of happiness and human-
needs fulfilled with care and fun.
Like a fawn fading into the unknown-
he bid his dandelion crown to a hellion.
He shed his years like florets blown-
into oblivion for a love so blazon-
through irises that were once brown-
with lore from a lifetime ending at dawn.
He said to me that life is a countdown-
to his time and strength leaving town-
but by then I could choose to be a baron-
or remain barren and drown.
I tried to dance to this hoedown-
only to realize I was just a clown.
In his words, we are destined to turn-
into foes and ash like a tribesman-
facing a dragon in a dungeon-
with doubt and treason; a torsion-
meant to dispel a thirsty demon
pausing as a hapless felon-
waiting to stir a hot cauldron-
upside-down if not for lessons given -
by a parent to a daughter upon-
seeking a dandelion crown!
This hellion’s florets aren’t grey but are laden-
with regrets wishing she knew back then-
what it takes to wear a dandelion crown-
before she’d seen how a king bears one.
Your dandelion crown was a token-
you gave me to finish all that’s undone.
You taught me that strength brings burgeon-
to face life’s shakedowns with a bludgeon-
that reads never fall for a trojan-
for he who wears the crown-
must bear the crown.