Ode to a Dandelion
Chameleon on green rustic fields ye lie
unplanted rosette by young hands that pluck
away thy priestly crown, from orient grown,
gold tiara gracing thy perennial brow.
Ye bear no mane as dandy lion might
though name thou hold, ye lion's tooth,
yet semblance lieth not in all thy form,
but in the leafy floral dress forsooth.
Ye come untimely sudden as a burst
of sunshine through grim gathered cumuli
erupting through tight pores compacted earth
dotting prairies with thy fairy clocks.
Thy clustered cankerworts permeate
all mundane meadows luscious leas
near stately castles, tawdry shacks alike,
no preference where thine Irish Daisies die.
A child's gentle touch doth stroke thy stem,
caressing to thy nape where neighbor endives
white and wild close and ope their mouths
that silent, scream to let them yet survive.
Beneath their feet, milk gowans sway and flow
to lusty breezes watching blowballs fly
like feathers tossed, thy pollen bearers blown
by blusterous breathing boisterous youth.
Carnation cousins form entwining crowns
as roses rally with their songs and psalms of love
while daffodils Narcissus love paint pastel lips
and dandelion, ye serve a court above.
Thy presence all perpetual and prominent
proposes panacea resolution from thy roots
thy stems and leaves, nutritious carte du jour,
ambrosian nectar fit for the gods and man.
Yet, not all share not the beauty of thy crest,
thy flowing locks, who see unsightly blight
thy helion core by day that sleeps by night
deplume thee of thy gold and verdant dress.
They smile at thy woeful death, demise
and watch thee bow and close thine eyes
thy shattered self snatched from thy mother's womb
interred thrust reckless back to earthen tomb.
Resurrected art thee blessed by renaissance
abiding and demotic benediction dance
performed renewal forebears long had done
through hardy history, living on and on.
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 503 times
Written on 2007-01-29 at 23:28
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