7. D Day

The breeze unpacks

The silken parachutes

From the bristled sack

Of the dried-up thistle.

It teases the seeds apart

From the cotton wool of the willowherb

And the woodside smokes

With the millions of seeds afloat.

Warm air unpicks the pincushion

Of the dandelion

And plucks the tiny plume

From the head of the groundsel.

This is the day

Of the airborne invasion

With the flower seeds parachuted

Into their future.

Stanley Cook