Plantain

Once part of a young children's game,
From a distance it seems rather tame,
But look closely -- you'll see
Frail, white stamens, so wee:
Pretty plantain, to shoot it's a shame.

poem © Celia Warren 2014

When we were children we would pick plantain, twist and squeeze the stem around itself, pull sharply, and fire off the flower-head like a bullet from a gun. It was only a weed; we didn't think twice. Now that I look closely at that delicate mist of stamens around the flower head, it seems like sacrilege to spoil this little flower and turn it into ammunition. Hmm. Must be getting soft - a sign of old age creeping on!