by Judith Allen
An Ode to the Dandelion
I will not be a hot-house flower
An orchid, prized for beauty and perfection.
Nurtured, coddled so tenderly
Giving my life to human protection.
I will not be a garden rose,
Although I admire her wicked thorn.
She is pruned and cut for perfect show.
Made to lose her true wild form.
I will not be a flat of annuals
Or bright basket of periennels.
To be planted in enriched soil
And watered oh so carefully.
Wildness is my name, no matter how I am defined.
Nature calling me, sharing me without greed.
I will not to a space be confined
By human hand or wish or need
Birds love me, as do bees.
Bunnies nibble on my greens.
Children, unaware of adult angst,
Play among my yellow buttons
And blow my fuzz into the breeze.
Many do not understand my beauty.
My freedom defies their sense of order
I grow here and pop up there
Laughing from their hosta border.
Spray me , dig and pull my roots
Curse all you will—-and give me flack!
But know, my dear friend,
For all that you try to make me die
Come next spring, I’ll be back.