Used to pick up white dandelions
Off the grass and blow them away
Pretty much the highlight of my day
Remembered that Welsh breeze,
Blowing through my raven hair
That feels like home sweet home
A twelve year old, Lent Lily
Making welsh cakes
With the ladies of the backroom
Singing praises in a choir
Dressed in white cloaks
And Father Thomas’ jokes
Daydreamed for a better
Tomorrow than my yesterdays
When worse comes to worse
Used to wish on dandelions
All summer long in my youth
It was my eleven, eleven
