As a kid, it never made sense to me. Grown men would spend hours in their neat, little yards, pulling dandelions from patches of green grass. I’d sit on my bike and watch them sweat as they made certain to get all of the evil root.
I’ve always had a love affair with dandelions. I don’t understand why they gained such a bad reputation. Dandelions are nutritious, high in vitamins, minerals and fiber. Birds and butterflies eat up their seeds and nectar.
Poets love dandelions. They represent three celestial bodies. Their yellow flowers represent the sun. The white puff balls are little moons. And the seeds, as they float into the air, are like tiny stars.
Neighbors may accuse me of being lazy, but I refuse to pull a single dandelion from my yard.
Someday, in retirement, I may be inspired to write a poem about dandelions that will make me famous. The rhyming may be tough.