Parachutes
A
Andrew Blakemore
0
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As seeds blow from the dandelions
Across the fallow field,
They sail upon the autumn breeze
Like parachutes they go,
Whilst floating through the chilly air
To some place far away,
And then shall rest upon the ground
When in the spring they'll grow.
To spread their mark upon the land
And furnish it with gold,
To every corner they shall dwell
Then rise in majesty,
And colour England with their grace
In every nook and verge,
Though some shall fall to stone and stream
And meet their destiny.
Alas my heart does feel for those
Deprived the chance to live,
Who never bloomed within the sun
And lost for evermore,
I stand alone and watch them go
And bless them as they rise,
To seek the breeze and fly afar
The wait for snow to thaw.
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