Put down your hoe and knife
Take up the lute and sing
Taraxacum the Golden !
Penny-round ,shining everywhere
Loyal despite our scorn.
I walk the lanes and city streets,
See golden flowers everywhere,
Long stems in country lanes,
No taller than the grass
Waving in the breeze
Short in tarmac pavement.
Changeless flower
No one to spoil the golden head
No orange lips,as with the daffodil
No silly names like "Chorus Girl"
On plastic packets in the shop
Wild-child of nature,
Taraxacum for ever.
Composite and penny -round
Perfect in the rain
Golden now and ever.
Sportsmen with their clubs and bats,
Studded boots and stinking vests
Blame you for the errant ball
And blackened eye.
As children home from school
We blew away our time,
Destroyed that perfect symmetry,
Scorned to take it home to Mum
For fear you wet the bed.
Cut the stem, it makes a whistle,
Take a root and you have coffee,
Suck the honey from the flower
Rosette leaves in salad
Antidote for port.
Today it shines for us,
(At least for those who look)
Yellow gold and willing,
Friendly with the tiny daisy,
Close as salt and pepper.
2008-05-01 @ 10:17