Evelina Stenson
Dandelion Children

A dandelion child is like a flower defying the cracks in the pavement.
Born in storm, yet with roots that refuse to break.
With the wind against them, they learn to dance – not because they want to,
but because they have to.

Behind eyes that have seen too much,
beats a heart of steel wrapped in silk.
They wear silence as armor,
and carry hope like a secret fire in their chest.

Dandelion children do not grow because the world is gentle,
but because they refuse to let it break them.
They bloom where others wither –
a whisper that strength is not always visible,
but always felt.

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