Wishes. 

Thistle wishes weigh heavier 
than dandelions, though time is ticking
and it takes a breath, already taken away
for the down to rise up.
I see this world waking, stretching, aging.
I notice change,
like a cooing grandmother
remarking on the unremarkable
inevitable growth of child to man.
All ages show on the spiny stems
confused by climactic shifts and switches - 
punkish purple, aged sepia
and all stages in between.
Tomorrow their aged grizzled heads will be no more,
heavy hopes in search of legacy,
wishing on the wind to prolong memories.

Development. 

The flat hot warmth
Of submerged stone
Holds proto life forms taking shape
Evolution speeded up
As legs emerge where there were none
And transformation occurs.
Do you presume to tell the tadpole
It cannot become what it is meant to be?
It finds its true form,
Blossoms amid the water blooms,
Assumes new identity
Fit for purpose.
Are you entitled to resume the name of tadpole
On emergent frog?
It becomes. It has become.