That summer
we lay among the willowherb
shielding our eyes
from the glare.
You picked a dandelion
to tell the time
and watched the feathery parachutes
of wind-blown seeds
disperse from the parent flower
like travelling time-clocks
borne on the breeze.
Such was the air of our
idle talk
caught in the haze of June.
Seeing the movement of seed-heads
we thought of the children
leaving home
and how we had loved the sound
of their voices
thrilling the house
with their lives !