BY APRIL'S KISS

I was a seed

blown from far away,

on dandelion wings,

by April’s kiss.

My roots, they’ve yearned

for the arable fields

of a distant land,

so long forlorn.

Legs I’ve grown,

in search of the place

where I know I belong:

The home I should have called my own.

In the alpine meadow

where the daisies dance

and the heather sings,

while the lazy glacial melt

slowly bids farewell

to the shape-shifting clouds

pantomiming fairy tales.

For now,

I must be content

to be a nomad

drifting through vacuous space,

lost in time’s folds,

always seeking that greener place.