Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, babies gotta play in the mud.

October’s brave flowers

gold-fleck the park

like the last remnants of summer’s sun.

Little muddy fingers

ripping with glee

each dandelion to give to me.

The petals fall like feathers

after a bite to see how they taste.

And so now we know;

good for throwing,

stepping on,

tearing,

giving,

but not for eating.

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