at the end of the Earth
there is a dandelion plant
the corner of the sky rests on its bosom
our world relies on its strength

yellow petals unfurling form the rays of our sun
flooding us with warmth
and as the stalk cracks, the milk bubbling out
paints the sky with clouds

night falls, and its spherical head glows, casting moonlight
in a luminous silver
a ghostly wind blows the seeds free into the night sky
and the heavens twinkle with stars

and it is the very next dawn
when another yellow bud breathes life
into the world around it
and the new day begins

such a pattern repeats, since the start
and until the very end
and nothing really matters
for at the end of the world
there is nothing but a weed.