Fantastic Clouds

Lately they all seem to say, “don’t mow the dandelions ‘til May”
Let the bumbling bees drink their fill on spring’s early yellow nectar swill
Let the buzzing bumbles flit unperturbed, bleary eyed from winter’s sleep disturbed

I blow cotton puffs with disregard, from stalks I plucked up from the yard
The white milky sap drips down my wrist as I close my eyes and make a wish
A hot air balloon to give me a ride, up through the stratosphere I glide

Above the trees, above the birds, 'til city streets turn micro 'burbs
The women dressed up to the nines become like dolls in grand designs
Their petticoats and hoops delight, they fade away they’re out of sight

Mother of pearl, mother of mine, I drift back down unscathed in time
To rest my head on the sweet earth, the worms and slugs will share their berth
Until I’m called inside to sup with knife and fork and brimful cup