Dandelions

Slight bits of green fur
Spread upon the brown soil
Of my garden

They are unwanted little beasts
Yet they are pretty

The day turns to night
And the night turns to day

The little beasts grow their healthy manes
Their yellow fluffy manes

Then when they die
They will send their white cubs
On the breeze of early autumn
To find soil of their own

The next time the warm sun comes round
The little white cubs
Will have manes of their own