The child, he glimpsed the oak so tall
Majestic, it towered over mankind.
Rain fell in his eyes,
Pure and sweet.
Briars and roses,
Pricked and pulled, inviting him in.
But he ran on with the wind in his face,
To the giant blanket of gold,
Of golden dandelions,
That shook and waved in whirls of refreshing wind.
