Lyric prose poems about dandelion?

The beautiful fairy dandelion fluttered in the sky and disappeared in the sky like snowflakes. The following is what I brought to you for your appreciation.

: dandelion

You come from underground.

It floated up, right?

With the fragrance of earth.

Early morning rain and dew

You just flew away in a hurry.

With your dreams.

Do you know

That dewdrop was a tear I shed last night.

Cry for your loneliness

Weep for our parting.

I know

You will leave eventually.

But I didn't expect

You left in such a hurry.

Stubbornly washed away the mud on his head.

Would rather endure a moment of humiliation.

You may leave now

I'm not staying.

With the sigh you left behind

I'll put myself

Bury in

Where you were born again.

: dandelion

When the breeze blows

There are snowflakes floating by.

in my eyes

Hold on tight and dare not let go.

What's that

That's the greeting of the wind.

Spread one's palm

Take care.

I still have it.

Trembling gently in the wind

I held the soil and planted a snowflake.

When the soil thaws,

Snow is in full bloom.

the original

You are a team.

tiny

dandelion

With distant greetings

Go for a ride

Waiting for the autumn wind

With his mind

Come to my side

Waiting for the next autumn wind

Put my thoughts.

Turn into snowflakes

Fall into his hands

: dandelion

You can always see some yellow flowers in the village.

Open it quietly and take out the inner spring quietly.

Share with you, is it gold or khaki?

It doesn't matter anymore.

The important thing is that my name is dandelion.

I have never left the village.

The green leaves cling to the ground, but the leaves are not big.

But as green as the tide.

Small yellow flowers, like the sun just rising from the horizon.

Fresh and elegant

I have never entered the mainstream of spring, dreaming on the edge of the city.

Willow reflection, stirring love water, peach blossom face

Those extravagant spring days have nothing to do with me

You can't even use a proper word.

Insert yourself into spring.

Youth is always polished as fast as lightning.

My silence can't cover up my inner mulberry field.

The lifted seed is like a white bun, hanging in the depths of the years.

On windy days, it will float far away.

In the distance, there is the soil of my exquisite dream.