Milkweed
©2009 by Rolland G. Smith

I wonder when our lives are done,
If there is something past the Sun?
I see it in a pod display
And know it in light’s bright array.

The down and seed sustain the life
When endings burst in seeming strife.
There must be more beyond the pod
When usefulness becomes the sod.

White spirit seeds will take their flight
Upon the breeze of day or night.
And start anew in place supreme
To let its soul expand its dream.