The silver seeds of spring, on gentle breezes fly,
tickling the warm soil, before back up to the heavens they fly,
seeking that perfect place, wherein they shall lie,
giving birth to their colour, in the warm sun, growing high.
Deep green and gold, this is her gift,
she thwarts all attempts, though narrowly missed,
mans dominion over nature, his control over bliss,
will not stave her from her duty, rest assured of this.
She watches as you trudge, off to your car,
she sees the skies, the clouds, above so far,
she smiles as she knows, a victim you are,
to the beauty she possesses, to the wonder of the briar.
They grow in profusion, splashes of gold,
emerald green, shapes strong and bold,
try as you may, with efforts untold,
she resists, and beckons, your efforts turned cold.
Embrace her, and love her, for she is the one,
who will never desert you, as others have done,
she dances in the wind, with wild abandon,
til she again gives up her seed, to the warm summer sun.
Don't ya just hate Dandelions?