1
More beautiful dying alive,
(As it fades, generating seeds),
Than in its full yellow flower,
The dandelions in my yard thrive,
Though people denounce them as weeds.
White tuft atop a thin tower,
A brain tottering on a spine,
Its thoughts fly in windblown showers,
Infinitesimally fine,
Like disintegration of hours.
2
Some moths carry a second head
On their backs — fooling — they’re not dead.
Oh, how we love inspired dread,
When our own lives are extended.
My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase at Amazon. Click here:
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