Let me take time to discuss the dandelion.
From my kitchen window I saw it, just now.
All by itself it grows in my back garden,
on the edge of the lawn I have yet to mow this year,
between the bench, the bins and the fence.
Maybe, I thought, it only sprouted this afternoon.
Certainly, I did not notice it there, yesterday.
Let me consider what it means to me.
Firstly, it is a welcome sign of spring.
If summer is bold, spring is shy,
showing itself in small ways,
like a lone dandelion.
I went outside, to look at it, closely.
Took two photographs of it,
which is unusual for me, odd.
Looked to me in the grass like a yellow sun,
reflected on a green sea from a green sky.
No, not a weed to me, as it would be
to keen gardeners, as they are called, dismissed as such
by them, uprooted and dumped on a waste heap,
for only flowers they plant themselves from seed bags
have beauty in their eyes, but what it is, a wild flower,
like the blue bell, the snow drop.
When the ground is dry and I mow the grass,
the dandelion will remain, like a sun beam in a green glass.
Dandelion is from the French dent-de-lion,
which means lion’s tooth, I read.
How they came by that, I do not know.
Does not make me think of a lion or a tooth.
Sunshine, yes, as I have said.