Some say dandelions
only transform by
the light of
full moons.
They wait for her
ghostly face to peek
out from
the gloom.
The sunshine blooms study
this otherworldly being,
completely opal-iced,
unlike anything they’ve seen.
And so the flowers
shed their sun,
abandon bright
for night.
Each becomes
a mini moon,
speckling meadows
white.
pm poetry 