Dandelion Crown

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.