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 –
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.