Canary yellow flowers herald in the spring.
So bold are we sitting in sea of green.
Most grown-ups look at us as weeds.
They pluck, dig, spray and mow with limited success.
The curse, when our yellow flowers turn fluffy white.
We have many seed gliders attached to our white heads,
Just waiting for the wind to blow our seeds, setting us all free.
Assaulting from the air, not caring where we land,
Settling in the soil and waiting for our germination to begin.
Dandelions were the flowers of your youth.
An act of playfulness, gingerly you picked our stalks,
And blew our fluffy white heads high up in the air-
In one breath was your goal,
Then watched our white swirls dance upon the wind.
So next time you pass by our fluffy white heads,
Become a child once more and blow.
For Sandy Ivy D's contest, "Seeds"