Watering The Dandelion

She was watering the dandelion
as I rounded the house
returning late from work.
She said its lush green magnificence
should be allowed to thrive.
Missing the tending of
her own loved garden
she watered mine
twelve thousand miles away.

On this last visit to her birthplace
her marauding white cells
were defeating the red,
defying her chemical breakfasts.

Her next journey would be different
after a final departure
from beloved husband and children,
already she missed them deeply.
They would follow their own roads.
Her road with its merciless twists
was Peter Pan’s big adventure.

As she faded away
after long isolation
in a stark white hospital bed,
primrose walls palely recalled
that dandelion brilliance
lushly green and golden in the sun.

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Watering The Dandelion

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