To Pluck A dandelion

With the mystique and poise of fear itself she stood in front of that window. There is a breeze and daisy blossoms she can see but still no sign of something new.As her life goes on she will wait for one day it will cross that gate and pass her fellow fir trees. For she is strong and willing. She'll watch the flowers blow away and rain fall down from above her. She is patient like a woman awaiting a bus to come back for her desperate and alone.
I take these short stumbled steps for the sweet content of folders coffee in the morning. My footprints like the ticking of a clock, slow and old. My breath like the memory of the oceans tide crashing in and out. My hair like the clouds of a storm grey and dead. But life did not teach me this, to preach of my wrinkled face like the delicate curtains of these windows. Instead I say like the beautiful creases in a white carnation. to say that I am old and Grey is to lie and complain, for the carnation is beautiful, and beautiful I am. So I take these curtains down for they resemble me not.
The birds flutter the ponds of the sweet meadow. Like birds you will learn. life is much like fishing, fish don't just jump in your boat. You will have to wait as long as it takes you to learn to catch them. You may fish all day and not catch a thing, but that doesn't mean there is no fish to catch.
The dandelions blossom so swiftly in the spring of the meadow. They stare upon the fir trees as if to touch the tops with their eyes. So anxious to fly, so excited to grow up out of the soil they lay. but if one is to jump out so sudden as a bud it will be squashed like a bug into the midst of where it came from. Butterflies soar by the breeze that so gracefully plucks the dandelions into the air. what a wonderful world beyond these cold blank meadows that they may not yet see. so curious of what more to come they must be.
For I am what is to come, old and grey. Alone and wise I will stay. For the experience outside the meadows was least of what I expected. Its to bad for the dandilons for they are not butterflies they can never go back to the soil they lay. but complain not, for If I could do the same I wouldn't know a thing. Butterflies are simply leaves blowing in the wind. to pluck a dandelion and make a wish Id wish the same for you.