[ Tekst: Magne Neby ]
Dandelion
Roses can’t be picked,
like a dandelion.
I tried to pick you up.
Your roots where long and firm,
with meanings and feelings for the whole world. I tried to pick you up.
With boylike charm and two bad jokes, and a dandelion.
I got through your shield for blokes, but I was too rough to feel,
the thorns on the stalk turned to bleed when I picked you up.
I didn’t mean to hurt you.
I didn’t mean to stand on your laces. I didn’t mean to set fire on your hair. Intentions didn’t fall through,
I didn’t mean to hurt you.
Only heartache left to share. There’s no dandelion,
left on your door step to explain. A Hemingway sort of ending aching, panning, lost for mending, after I picked you up.
I didn’t mean to hurt you.
I didn’t mean to stand on your laces. I didn’t mean to set fire on your hair. Intentions didn’t fall through,
I didn’t mean to hurt you.