They pop up unannounced,
Unwanted,
Dreaded by some.
Tiny green sprigs brighten the dull brown of the winter lawn.
They are the first to herald the spring scene,
And they are the last to whisper “farewell” in the autumn.
Soon bright yellow blossoms add color to spring’s welcome mat.
“Dent de lion,” “Lion’s teeth” they are called,
Ready to devour that lush, green lawn.
Pull one out and, like Hydra, two will replace it.
Quickly the yellow blossoms fade,
Churning out small, cottony puff balls.
Children delight in running with them
Blowing the gossamer wisps in the air
Launching their wishes on the wind.
They rise like miniature hot air balloons
Riding high wherever the wind takes them,
Only to descend like parachutes
Planting their glory over all the earth.
Virtue or menace,
Perennial or eternal,
Wildflower or weed,
Gardener’s scourge or salad greens to enhance French cuisine.
Blossoms that relinquish Heaven’s nectar,
A cordial or wine fit for the gods.
Scorned as the lowliest of God’s botanical creations.
Yet lofty enough to be offered as a child’s gift
And cherished by a loving mother.
The lofty, lowly dandelion!
Joan Lacombe
© March 2001, Used with Permission
