The sun in the noon-day sky is a giant beaming dandelion severed from its stem,
Freely floating over the earth.
A disembodied puff of flower head
Liberated from earthly laws,
Immortalized above the clouds despite the passing
of its sister buds in the onslaught of November frost.
Upon a barren hill,
My fingers reach as headless stems
In vain to trace
Each honeyed, golden petal.
So fragrant and sweet they seem to me
As they cast their warmth unto the world below,
Greet my frosted cheeks
With floral kisses.
Days of plenty have laid themselves to rest in fallen leaves,
Now I, a beggar on a corpse of earth, reach out
To grasp its proffered petals in my palms,
Pocket as many as will fit within the confines of my coat.
Smuggled warmth stowed away
For colder days to come.