I lie, lonely as a cloud

I lie, lonely as a cloud,
Stretched on the grass of my yard,
Looking up at the patchy sky,
Looking up at what's to come
And what's gone by.

A white seed floats above my eyes
Carried by the summer breeze.
When I turn my head I see,
Not far, the now bare stalk
From which it worked free.

I've certainly let my yard go,
The grass is long,
The shrubs need pruning,
A branch, most of a tree really,
Fell this winter and still needs cutting.
The neighbors must surely hate me.

Yet I like the yellow of buttercups,
The yellow then white of dandelions
The soft blue of violets,
The eager white of clover,
In thinking of these I should find rest.

I turn my head the other way
And see that white wisp
Now caught in the feathers
Of my grass, itself going to seed.
Perhaps it'll drop and find shelter,
Next year another yellow flower.
Perhaps not, who's to say.

You I know, stand in the window
Watching, surrounded by our kids now grown.
Should you come out or leave me be?
You cannot know.