In the froth of life

It's here a dandelion clock
Is nodding in the froth of life,
It's here
A meadow overwhelms us:

And all our early seven-senses
It's here a yellow rose is growing
Its first buds, amongst an iron fist.

It's here our ankles weigh heavy,
Trembling like two ship anchors,
Docked in a harbour;
Leaving, two ports of call with a siren kiss.