The twenty-eighth poem from my poetry collection Conception. It was shortlisted in writelink's New World in the Morning poetry contest in October 2005.

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Sunflower

“Come on, Mummy,” you cry,
clutching my leg like a climbing frame.
“Lift me up high to see.”

You balance on my shoulders
and reach up to the sunny smile
of your special flower.

If asked, I think you believe
we could pick stars, move the moon,
make rainbows out of the darkest clouds.

And, in fifteen years’ time,
when you are grown tall
enough to touch the sky,

I hope you don’t look down
to find us left too far below,
like dandelions to be trodden underfoot.