Dandelions

While waiting for warmer days to arrive We coddle our seedlings to keep them alive And make sure they're watered and sheltered and fed For a draft of cold air could strike them dead And right outside, when the snow is gone In every meadow and field and lawn Like pagan hordes that worship the sun The invasion of dandelions has begun. Blithely ignoring the weatherman's warnings Of frosty nights and frigid mornings They crowd together but always find room To put down their roots to grow and to bloom. So we mow off their heads and think, "well that's that." But the next time we try it they're all laying flat. To the passing breeze they offer their seeds, A haphazard method that always succeeds. We don't know who plants them, but I'm sure you'll agree It's a much better gardener than you or me.