If ever a flower I would be,
a dandelion I would surely prefer;
a bit of a rebel that welcomes
spring, popping up unannounced
to offer greens for the early garden table
or beautify mountain meadows
with carpets of the brightest yellow
that might become a wine
to savor later beside a winter fire
or even lend color to the
morning toast and yet,
still, or even so, or in addition,
create such consternation
for those who would choose
uniformity and have no use for a
surprise yellow. A bit of a
renegade but with some
redeeming qualities, I suppose.
And then, as I grew old
and ready to die,
able to be so weightless
that the breeze off the
wings of a hummingbird
might send me off
to populate whatever
meadows await, whatever lawn
might need a surprise.
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