FIGHTING DANDELIONS
Every spring it is the same, a dandelion fight.
They grow there looking up, such a pretty sight,
They are dotted so brightly across our green lawn
And every time we cut them down I seem to mourn.
They are so very resilient they grow up once again,
Seem to be quite oblivious to any hurt or cruel pain.
The weed-eater chews them up leaves them for dead,
Then next morning each one has a brand new head!
I wish that the dead dandelion was not classed as a weed
For it is so pretty and on the young leaves we can feed,
Think how pretty the world would be if dandelions did stay,
We would save a fortune in bedding plants for many a day.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 19 May 2005