Wishes. 

Thistle wishes weigh heavier 

than dandelions, though time is ticking

and it takes a breath, already taken away

for the down to rise up.

I see this world waking, stretching, aging.

I notice change,

like a cooing grandmother

remarking on the unremarkable

inevitable growth of child to man.

All ages show on the spiny stems

confused by climactic shifts and switches - 

punkish purple, aged sepia

and all stages in between.

Tomorrow their aged grizzled heads will be no more,

heavy hopes in search of legacy,

wishing on the wind to prolong memories.

Development. 

The flat hot warmth

Of submerged stone

Holds proto life forms taking shape

Evolution speeded up

As legs emerge where there were none

And transformation occurs.

Do you presume to tell the tadpole

It cannot become what it is meant to be?

It finds its true form,

Blossoms amid the water blooms,

Assumes new identity

Fit for purpose.

Are you entitled to resume the name of tadpole

On emergent frog?

It becomes. It has become.