Weeding, a poem on dandelions

Would we think they were beautiful if we didn’t know they were weeds?

by Helen Battersby

A gardener must not love a dandelion.

Its rays must not hook a gardener’s heart

or show themselves as stars upon the hills,

gold on the imperative of green.


A gardener must not love the silken spheres

of one-o’clocks; must not count the hours

to liberate the feathered children,

sown across the sky on wind and breath.


A gardener must not love a dandelion;

must not love the place its children land

to drill insistently within the earth,

mining their crowns of lion’s teeth.


A dandelion just rewards such love

by clinging fiercely to the scruff of life.

1 comment

  1. It is a wonderful thing that DH loves dandelions! Our "lawn" is full of them. Living on 10 acres, I refuse to weed them out! They are cheerful until I mow.

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