by Colleen James

A face like a tiny sun

that closes as darkness falls.

Leaves that provide sustenance.

The parting gift of a feathery puff

that may grant wishes.

Who wouldn’t love a dandelion?

You see me now, a dead branch

I was part of a stately tree,

then the storm came and cast me away.

My leaves died and fled –

I waited.

The boy sees me now.

In his tiny hands, I become a baton, a sword, a staff and more.

He places me among his treasures

and I am reborn.