A dandelion flower

Image via Wikipedia

This would have been better to post back in the spring when I wrote it.  Oh, well.  Hope you enjoy it anyway.


Searching for signs

of spring in my garden —

hoping for tulips or daffodils, crocus, or hyacinth.

What do I find?

A dandelion.

Not one but dozens.

It is frustrating

to find only weeds.

I pull twenty or so.

Some come out easily, root and all.

Others cling stubbornly to the earth

leaving only jagged leaves in my hand.

No matter how much we fight,

they come back every year.

I feel a grudging respect for those pesky weeds

because tenacity is a trait to be admired.

Different scenes fill my mind…

a highway cutting through a vast sea of yellow flowers

beautiful in their abundance;

small hands clutching bouquets;

shining faces, kisses, and a proclamation:

“These are for you, Mama,

‘cause you’re the best Mama in the whole world!”

Kissing away tears a short while later

when the beautiful bouquet

has withered and died;

puffy cheeks blowing seeds —

what do they wish for in their innocence? —

wide eyes watching as the seeds float away.

Oh, dandelions, why are you hated so?

You bring so much joy,

I want you to



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