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Spadina Literary Review  —  edition 26 page 07



by Neil Leadbeater

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 !