The dent de lion lies in wait
on the shady side of the bike pass,
a blur of freckles as I pass.
Buried there since Mayflower pact,
soon he will spring forth with floret,
bold, with a strong diuretic effect,
and flash his buttery mane, tail erect.
And by his side, a larger pride
than you or I had earlier spied.
A lion’s tooth won’t be denied,
his pair of most resilient leaves
resembling tiny jagged teeth.
Priest’s crown, stubborn in belief,
until his pappus interlocked
fall out of their droopy bract.
The dandelion, a doon-head clock,
balding from his bout, reclines his snout
to nap the rest of the year out.
Cover Art: flavianambrose
NaPoWriMo#12~Write about something small. Biking today, I noticed the first dandelions popping up, so I stopped to pen a poem about them. About 9 years ago, I wrote a different poem about dandelions. If you’re curious, you can check out that one here as well, as it’s an old favorite of mine.