Dandelions
We have been told, that each of us has a manifest destiny, And that our most futile action, would be to attempt mutiny, That fate has drawn up for each of us, a fixed path, And straying from which we
Strands of Belief
We pluck fluffy balls of cotton from so many different plants, Having no idea, which would end up in towels, mops, and pants, But every tuft itself, shorn of identity, has no consequence to dread, Caring even less, that many