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A solitary dandelion growing on the railway line
pushing up through the gravel between the sleepers

every time a train passes by
has its eyes filled with dust and smoke
its ears deafened with the roar
its heart sinks down
and it nearly dies.

Yet as the seasons pass
it puts out leaves
rears up a stalk
then flowers
and produces a globe of puff.

Now those seeds
floating off on the breeze
will sprout afresh
in those green fields over there.