Taraxacum parachutes on the breeze,
Billowing against cerulean skies,
Landing, ivory white on verdant seas,
A cott’ny carpet dread by knowing eyes;
Exploding florets of golden yellow,
Stealing treasure out of the very earth,
Bursts of sun-burnt orange in fields left fallow
As Man battles Nature for worldly worth;
No more a child’s game; gone is delight
In old wives’ tales, and dent de lion myths
Of numbered days to come, love out of sight,
And the empty promise of granted wish.

I here do mourn the lost days of my youth,
And lawn and garden mauled by Lion’s Tooth.