Dandelions

In those early days of June,
These hardy little fellows.
Are seen in meadow-lands,
In fluffs of brightest yellows.

Down around the fence-posts,
By the garden wall.
Dandelions are growing,
Each one standing tall.

Yellow petaled flowers,
Prolific in their growth.
Standing in the garden,
Of them - the people loath.

No one seems to like them,
To men - they're not much use.
People stomp upon them,
And give them much abuse.

But dandelions are beautiful,
No thought what people say.
Growing here and growing there,
In their bright array.


E.P. 1908 - 1989