79 Poems About Dandelion Flowers Delicate, Simple & Sincere Beauty

Dandelion flowers are wildflowers, usually growing among roadside grass. They have a spherical shape and white color, they are dispersed by seeds through the wind. This type of flower is loved by many young people and is known as a prophecy for love. Dandelions have this very homely, simple but also charming beauty… They always bring a peaceful feeling… Wherever dandelions appear, the scenery becomes incredibly charming and romantic.

Dandelion flowers – such a funny name and are a lot harder to visualize than rose, orchid, lily, or daisies… Therefore, dandelion flowers bring more imprints and are easier to remember. The petals, even though they are small and fragile, grow modestly on the side of the road, bring many positive messages to life and love. Thus, poems about dandelion flowers also convey simplicity, humility, and tenderness.

Although dandelion flowers are not too beautiful and have no fragrance, they bring pure love and aspiration, and they always lean towards the sun when blooming. So, the poets have been expressing this flower’s charm, simplicity, rusticity, sincerity through each poem about dandelion flowers in a charming and lively way. Below are some short dandelion poems collected by OZoFe.Com, hope you will enjoy them!

1, Lesson from a Dandelion by Agnes Vojta

How easily
the dandelions let go –
the brush of a breeze
sets the seeds free.
They float away,
leaving small scars
on the green body
where they once anchored.
I want to learn
not to cling
to those who must leave
when the time comes,
to watch them drift
towards growth,
the scars a reminder
how much I loved.

2, Dandelion by Will Stanton

You won’t find them in places where society goes,
Like flower shows.
Their affections
Run more to junk yards and other low-rent sections –
Not flowers to make perfume of or wear.
People see them in their lawns and swear.
Cows eat them and their milk tastes funny.
Bees make them into honey.
The farmer turns them under with his plow,
Or makes them into wine if he knows how.
They hang around street corners on pipestem legs,
And taste good in salad with vinegar and hard-boiled eggs.
In broken bricks and cinders they
Do well. Also in clay.
Hills they prefer to valleys.
They like to grow
Where kids go,
In vacant lots and alleys.
Little girls use them for various things,
Such as money. They put them on strings,
Or hold them under their chins to see if they like butter.
Golfers knock their heads off with a putter.
You can split them with your tongue to make long curls,
Which small comedians wear to look like girls.
They hug the earth where lawnmowers mow,
And so survive.
Elsewhere they stretch taller.
In areas where nothing else will grow
They thrive – More like the sun than sunflowers,
Only smaller.
They can’t be stopped although you hoe and spray them;
The best that you can hope is to delay them.
No skirmish ever proves to be the last;
No victory quite manages to stay won.
They seem to propagate about as fast
As a middle-aged gardener can run.
There isn’t any more that you can say
About these tawny, undesired plants
(Teeth of the lion is what they’re called in France).
Except that certain things are here to stay,
Things that don’t pertain to public good,
Such as firecrackers, unplanned parenthood,
Snowballs, or a bedtime story-
Things you’d never dream
Of including in a modern social scheme.
Dandelions fall in this category.

3, Dandelion Thinking by Monica Cromhout

Dandelions
don’t care
that nobody cares
to cultivate dandelions.

Dandelions
don’t know
that everyone knows –
they grow everywhere.
Underfoot. In cracks.
Extravagantly.

4, Dandelions by Unknown

A deck of cards
And a game of four factions
That is played with luck, and wit’s actions
Naught much else to do here, but play, and visit the friendly bards

Everyone plays on equal terms
With a hand of chosen heroes and hemispheres
While playing though everyone learns
That to make a deck, and win, it may take years

Even so, the game’s widely acknowledged
Played with delight
Cards are won, and older ones are discarded
I’ve to say that it’s a wonderful way to fight

It’s said that the game is like politics
But devoid of all its layers of deceitful intrigue
From kings to peasants, everyone here needs a round or two of daily fix
For there are no dissecting lines, nor are there any
discriminatory leagues

It’s a splendid way of saving oneself from the daily grind
Challenging the various masters is time well spent
For it sharpens your luck, and mind
Master, Master… How about a few rounds of Gwent?

5, Dandelion by Tina Mozelle Braziel

My first trip, I scoured every floor
of the MoMA, winding around other patrons
before they could read “Alabama” on my tee.
I lingered over Birthday’s lovers
levitating into kiss, then moved as if driven
until I found, unreal and gleaming,
an Airstream. I made myself at home.
I took a seat. I cranked the slatted glass
open and peered out at the nearby Eames
and Starck. You’d think I had never seen
metal rivets before. I had never seen anything
from where I come from hailed as art. I want that
trailer-inside-the-MoMA feeling again now, I want
dandelion seed valued as much as tulip bulbs.
So I’m buying this packet of what most want
to poison. And the dream of putting down
roots. It has nothing to do with dandelions
that sprout and blossom into suns and moons
as bright and mythic as any Chagall.
Or how their greens fill bowl and belly.
Or how my bees will ferment their nectar
into honey. That’s all free and easy.
Those seeds I could harvest from any lawn.

It’s worth I’m after.
And always paying for.

6, Dandelion by Sharon Hashimoto

In the dark, a square of wet touched her brow.
She tried to turn her head, but its simple weight
held her down. Why was her body heavy?
The thought pulsed, first sharp and quick,
then dull and long, a piece of string made straight.
She waited. She grew to know the room. The thin skin of her body
stretched and swelled. Lying still, her eyes closed,
she saw her fevered breath rise to the ceiling,
felt cooler, heavier air falling
against her face, felt another body moving,
disturbing the layers, shifting them left and right.

She was on a bed. Two blankets, a thin sheet,
and an old quilt fitted her to the mattress.
Was she young or old? Had she given birth? Was she dying?
She felt a shadow lapping the boundaries
of the bed. A silhouette leaned close.
Strong fingers counted pulses in her wrist
like the flat ripples of a low tide going out,
the surf’s foam a sea of dandelions
swaying and bending around the border
of a wide wooden porch. Each time she knelt
the stiff lace of her sleeves and collar
would scratch and poke her. Low voices drifted
through the mesh of the screen door and she listened
to their even tones blending together
the way feathery white seeds clung to the stem
and to each other
before wind blew them apart and far away.

7, Dandelion by Josef Weinheber

Not a vase will give you shelter.
Yet: the world’s most lovely image
is your downy seeds’ collected sphere.

No, you feel not that they scorn you.
Why should strength with shouts be greeted?
Bitter though, your milk is hate not,
wisdom is it, patience, grail.

Lilies, daffodils and tulips:
let them-praise-bedecked-their conscience
overblossom any time!
You are here, in millions mustered,
strong with blood, primeval mark.

Tell me, if the alps had borne you,
lonely, first in spring, and distant,
what a wonder you would be!
Oh, the soulful,
over you they would be weeping
and the pedants would be counting
all your thousand sacred petals,
people’s son!

8, Dandelions (II) by Henri Cole

He drew
these dandelions
during one
of the days
when the only

solace
was derived
from the labor
of getting
the white stems

and blurry seed heads
just right. “Nobody there,”
the new disease
announced,
with black-tie gloom,

“nobody there,”
after he’d succumbed.
Sometimes,
sleeping soundly
is almost

unbearable.
Please take
care of me,
he asked,
as they put

his crayons
with his wallet
in a box
by the stove.
In the distance,

beyond the tulips,
an insect chorus
droned:
we beat you up;
we beat you up.

9, A Dandelion for My Mother by Jean Nordhaus

How I loved those spiky suns,
rooted stubborn as childhood
in the grass, tough as the farmer’s
big-headed children—the mats
of yellow hair, the bowl-cut fringe.
How sturdy they were and how
slowly they turned themselves
into galaxies, domes of ghost stars
barely visible by day, pale
cerebrums clinging to life
on tough green stems. Like you.
Like you, in the end. If you were here,
I’d pluck this trembling globe to show
how beautiful a thing can be
a breath will tear away.

10, A January Dandelion by George Marion McClellan

All Nashville is a chill. And everywhere
Like desert sand, when the winds blow,
There is each moment sifted through the air,
A powdered blast of January snow.
O! thoughtless Dandelion, to be misled
By a few warm days to leave thy natural bed,
Was folly growth and blooming over soon.
And yet, thou blasted yellow-coated gem,
Full many a heart has but a common boon
With thee, now freezing on thy slender stem.
When the heart has bloomed by the touch of love’s warm breath
Then left and chilling snow is sifted in,
It still may beat but there is blast and death
To all that blooming life that might have been.

11, Why, Dandelion It Isn’t Easy by Mark Heathcote

Why dandelion – it isn’t easy to lie down
In these weeds and fall in love.
We don’t all have to be golden,
Stoic, and upright, shoulders above.

To fall like a seed-head
And break or bend in love
Why dandelion – it isn’t easy
To sing in these high, octaves, love.

But I am the meadowlark
In a countenance, you’ve never seen so blue
And it’s all because-my-heart hunger’s
Yearns to climb the mountain-pass with you.

Why dandelion – it isn’t easy
Loving, you!
But I know your heart will climb,
And float with mine too,
And sing in a chord
All the way-to-our mountain Shepherd Lord.

12, Dandelion Magic by Lamar Cole

Dandelion drifts on the wind.
Cool breezes touch sweetheart’s skin.
Tall grass looking so green.
Mountain air smelling so clean.

Fir trees standing so tall.
Wild geese flying above it all.
Wild horses running free.
Sweetheart’s love is as sweet as honey from a bee.

13, The Bridge Where The Dandelions Cling by Andrew Blakemore

As I stand ‘neath the cracks
Where the dandelions cling
To the bridge as the water lies still,
In the shade of its arch
On the old cobbled path
Where the bricks yield a cavernous chill.

And I hear there the drum
Of the raindrops that fall
And see puddles that form on the ground,
Till the sunlight breaks through
That unshakable mass
And does shine on the land all around.

As I stare from the arch
At the pasture beyond
Where the cattle so peacefully graze,
In the field through the hedge
Where the blossom does hang
On the hawthorn in bounteous displays.

As the stormy clouds pass
On the winds that do blow
Through the branches and boughs it does wend,
I still wait ‘neath the bridge
Where the dandelions cling
And I watch as the raindrops descend.

14, Dandelions by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Welcome children of the Spring,
In your garbs of green and gold,
Lifting up your sun-crowned heads
On the verdant plain and wold.

As a bright and joyous troop
From the breast of earth ye came
Fair and lovely are your cheeks,
With sun-kisses all aflame.

In the dusty streets and lanes,
Where the lowly children play,
There as gentle friends ye smile,
Making brighter life’s highway

Dewdrops and the morning sun,
Weave your garments fair and bright,
And we welcome you to-day
As the children of the light.

Children of the earth and sun.
We are slow to understand
All the richness of the gifts
Flowing from our Father’s hand.

Were our vision clearer far,
In this sin-dimmed world of ours,
Would we not more thankful be
For the love that sends us flowers?

Welcome, early visitants,
With your sun-crowned golden hair,
With your message to our hearts
Of our Father’s loving care.

15, The Dandelion by Vachel Lindsay

O dandelion, rich and haughty,
King of village flowers!
Each day is coronation time,
You have no humble hours.
I like to see you bring a troop
To beat the blue-grass spears,
To scorn the lawn-mower that would be
Like fate’s triumphant shears,
Your yellow heads are cut away,
It seems your reign is o’er.
By noon you raise a sea of stars
More golden than before.

16, To The Dandelion by James Russell Lowell

Dear common flower, that grow’st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
First pledge of blithesome May,
Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold,
High-hearted buccaneers, o’erjoyed that they
An Eldorado in the grass have found,
Which not the rich earth’s ample round
May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be.

Gold such as thine ne’er drew the Spanish prow
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,
Nor wrinkled the lean brow
Of age, to rob the lover’s heart of ease;
‘Tis the Spring’s largess, which she scatters now
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand,
Though most hearts never understand
To take it at God’s value, but pass by
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye.

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy;
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime;
The eyes thou givest me
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time:
Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee
Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment
In the white lily’s breezy tent,
His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass,
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,
Where, as the breezes pass,
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,
Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue
That from the distance sparkle through
Some woodland gap, and of a sky above,
Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move.

My childhood’s earliest thoughts are linked with thee;
The sight of thee calls back the robin’s song,
Who, from the dark old tree
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long,
And I, secure in childish piety,
Listened as if I heard an angel sing
With news from heaven, which he could bring
Fresh every day to my untainted ears
When birds and flowers and I were happy peers.

How like a prodigal doth nature seem,
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art!
Thou teachest me to deem
More sacredly of every human heart,
Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show,
Did we but pay the love we owe,
And with a child’s undoubting wisdom look
On all these living pages of God’s book.

17, The Sea Lions Dandelion by Kewayne Wadley

When I was younger I use to dream the dreams
that found it easier to find you at night
years passed by and it’s safe to say
I still dream the same dreams
as our eyes would find each others beyond the reaches
pillows could go
or at least I’d like to think so
or at least on your behalf
as I dreamed we became one with the stars
as we further ignited the dreams we dreamt since childhood
heartstrings strum’d as our lips seeped deeper
into the cotton that filled the skies
hard rock candies shared between you and I
as we spoke our own dialuge
between the countless sugar baby and sugar daddy wrappers
silent as we became curious to what was on one anothers mind
we’d speak with our eyes as each look became temptation
we’d speak with our eyes as imanginations ran wild
a bit boyish on my behalf
but never the less you prefered to be the princess locked in the tower
forbidden fruit tasted by the lips of the thirst
that begged to have you near
misconceptions of everything I still see as preistine
sea lions that played in the dandelions that laid by the shore

18, Joy In The Simple Things by Michelle Morris

There is joy in the simple things in life;
Hold the hand of a loved one;
Read poetry in the moonlight;

Have a simple meal with close friends;
Share music from your youth;
Enjoy moments that won’t end.

Take a walk in the sunshine,
Feel the grass beneath your feet;
Sit in the sand at the beach,
Feel your life become complete.

19, Dandelion Lovers by Silent Siren

I watched them bloom
I watched them dance
So much passion
They were in a trance

See the dandelion lovers
The sky is clear of showers
One look to bind their hearts
They were doomed from the start

They were blind
Fate wasn’t kind
But their hearts
Were entwined

See the dandelion lovers
Those fragile wild flowers
One gust to blow them apart
Now just memories of the past

20, The Four Seasons by Linda Tetlimo

The weather is no longer cold
so the snow melts away
Dandelions comes out to play
and make the fields looks like gold

The world is warm, and the flowers grows
Under the sun I get burned on the tip of my nose
Summer is here, the wind blows in my hair
Beach, drinks, friends; I feel like I’m an millionaire

The sun take a step back and let the leaves glow
Autumn proves how wonderful it can be to let things go
The flowers dies, birds fly away, but I listen to the autumns silence
In the chaos of fallen leaves, I need a bit of guidance

The earth is white and the coldest season of the year
Winter is the time to be grateful to have someone near
Humanity is like snowflakes
Alone we’re weak but you must see what snowflakes together makes

21, Wishful by Mary Csillag

I’ve seen her pluck a dandelion,
this wishful little girl,
while dust settled on the road,
my face, my fate, my shirt,
and your trace lost momentum,
for me,
in time, and pace, and dirt.

But there she was each sunrise,
guarding your name,
as if it was her own – you never gave,
the same,
she sent her wishes, flowering,
to the unknown skies,
drenched in distant gain.

“He loves me, or he loves me not”,
her lips’ locked in a trance,
seeing her like that, petite, again,
hanging on that heartbreak fence,
I wished,
I never met with you,
we never had that dance.

For when one fateful autumn day,
at the break of dawn,
she finds,
you had another daughter,
you even had a son,
this hopeful little girl of mine,
will know you’ll never come.

22, Dandelion by Melissa E. Beckwith

Tiny wisps of white
Riding on an unseen wind

Angry, determined rain drops
Drowning in an ocean

Soft and fuzzy flakes
Disappearing in a blanket of ice

There’s so much abundance
On this azure circle in the dark

Yet we had so little of you

Here and gone like a wisp of course breath
On a frozen morning

Your memory, though, holds fast

You are the deep blue ocean
So full of unique excitement

You are the honeyed air of a new born spring

You are the cool moon
Dim in a black, endless sky

You are the radiant sun
Calling to the green Earth

You will forever by my
Beloved, cherished, joy

23, Happiness by D.E. Grimm

With sunshine sprawling at the door,
On downy couch I’ve my coffee.
Dandelion heads hover and soar,
Higher still and in reverie.

The cool wind murmurs in the grass,
And leaves and bees both flutter fast.
The milking cows yon greet the lass
Who, seeing butterfly, sprints past.

She runs after it as with dreams,
Teeth white and hands so persevere.
I, too, have my own childhood whims,
And poetry book’s been my peer!

And day is fair to bask outside,
Like daffodils at the lakeside.
Oh, world, thou fill my heart with joy,
With hope, with colors that e’er cloy!

24, The Dandelion by Kiki Ramaramama

I left
On a Sunday morning
as the west wind blows
scattering leaves
flapping curtains
lifting plastic bags
chasing away the scent that the dog
followed

I knew about this a week ago
when our heart
is no longer connected
and you seemed nonchalant
Maybe you knew
that the time has come
Just like how you always knew

Perhaps I am not the first
And I will not the be the last
And you will not remember me

Perhaps

I’ll find someone like you
Someone who will remember
how I dress in white
just waiting
for that final moment
and in that instant
for me to depart forever
after our link is severed

I tidied my dress
and ran across the field
carried by the wind
tumbling across grasses
blown by a gust of hot air
as one bus passes

Was it not so long ago
that i remembered your smile
and how we were connected

I lost my pretty dress
The one I ran away with
And found my abode
a place to rest my feet
I finally found the one
who was you

For I became you
As i made pretty dresses for them
who shall leave me too
when the west wind blows

25, Pretend to be… by Anonymous

All your dreams, the wind blew off
Just like Dandelions gusted in the wind
But hide despair and pretend to be
That you just made a wish on the breeze

Deep inside you are cracked like glass
Shattered in pieces so hard to collect
But hide your pain and pretend to be
That all the splinters glow you more

You know it’s pouring deep within
The pain would flood and sink you in
But hide the storm and pretend to be
That you are just dancing in the rain

None would care or want to know
The agony vandalising you into ruins
So hide it all and pretend to be
That you beam and live in blithe

26, Dawn by Anonymous

Here and there the dewdrops glitter
As if winking their eyes of silver
Marking the end of a night in glamour
Down the leaves the beads thus slither

Woe of past would just set by
With happiness shining over the sky
This morn so new in weather eye
Shall mark new day and mystify

A walk with silent treads on the moor
With air of blithe and gay so pure
This charm shall hold the best cure
Even for whom gold holds no allure

The chirps and tweets of fairy tune
Moist Dandelions shattered and strewn
This magical fest would triumph till noon
The heavenly charm of the divine Dawn

27, Dandelions by Annamaria Ayyad

I saw you today
Standing in rain,
Waiting for her.
People’s shoes
On rainy streets
Where puddles
Reflect faces.
You exhaled,
My heart ached.
I remembered
Lying in grass
Freeing dandelions
From their stems,
So they could flee
What tethered them
To earth, pain of soil.
But I could not
Free myself.

I saw you both
Silently gazing into
Love’s window.
Hand in hand
Lip to lip, laughing,
Eyes exchanging
Secret light language.
You never found
Those lights in my eyes.
No language
Between us,
Only chains.
Stupid pretence
They said truth
Would set us free,
But it chained me.
What is freedom
Without wings.

28, First Dandelion by Jemverse

First dandelion in the sun
yellow there and bright
and though it is a weed I know
it brings a lovely sight

So I’m not going to pull it up
but let it grow instead
to bring me joy and pleasure
with its lovely yellow head

And I’m really pleased I did that
for I think that it heard me
as next morning in the sunshine
the one had turned to three

29, Dandelion Honey by Alan Peat

First thing, when weak light sparks birdsong,
I try my best to read it into sharper focus,
but Bolton and Bury are abstract
and Korea is my father’s war.

Further back still, both mud and wire
are stubbornly silent and coarse:
it can’t be turned to towns or wars,
this stuttering mole, known only by its hills.

So I walk down the lane, through the gate
to our field of oblivious green,
where everything I drew on
turns to Bible doodles,

the sacked scribblings
of a book torn apart for its clasps,
burnt vellum marginalia – blackened rabbits
riding snails around borders.

As my newborn smoker’s fingers
go about their business,
each yellow head is bagged
and another stem bleeds white.

But I cannot shake it off
with the promise of tomorrow’s honey,
so we walk back hand-in-hand,
back through the gate to the blur of my house.

30, Words, And All by Darcy Royce

Your words, like seeds of dandelion,
free and
lifted from the ground,
swirl around the heart – and in this opened space,
we embrace one another,
to release,
then,
newborn and full of joy,
our stored story of love and life,
in a moment’s share,
in flight of light,
in tales of soul,
in a dance with grace.

And sometimes they don’t meet,
word seeds,
set free, from a caring heart,
they wander around lost
without their ground,
where,
upon landing love,
life springs,
and we find ourselves,
bound by the eternal law,
ever and forever,
nestled at home,
words, and us,
together, not apart.

31, Dandelion by James Roethlein

A dandelion
with thistle thorns,
briar patch tendrils
wrapped about him
body and soul.
But for all the torment,
he clings in desperate fashion,
weary of the roses
holding him at arms distance.

32, Wishing For Luck by S.R.Chappell

Fingers crossed we’ll make it, lets wish upon a star.
Knock on wood, a superstition so bizarre.
With every little action, it gives us hope to cling to.
A kind of tradition handed down to get us through.
So I spend my time gazing up at the night’s sky for falling stars.
Wishing for the healing of love, that left behind so many scars.
I roam the golden meadows for dandelions to wish upon.
Blowing dandelion seeds, and with the wind my hope holds on.
Searching for four leaf clovers, so luck will be kind.
Oh the silly things I do to ease my worried mind.

33, The First Dandelion by Walt Whitman

Simple and fresh and fair from winter’s close emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter’d grass—innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The spring’s first dandelion shows its trustful face.

34, Dandelion by Hilda Conkling

Little soldier with the golden helmet,
O What are you guarding on my lawn?
You with your green gun
And your yellow beard,
Why do you stand so stiff?
There is only the grass to fight!

35, The Dandelion by Vachel Lindsay

O dandelion, rich and haughty,
King of village flowers!
Each day is coronation time,
You have no humble hours.
I like to see you bring a troop
To beat the blue-grass spears,
To scorn the lawn-mower that would be
Like fate’s triumphant shears.
Your yellow heads are cut away,
It seems your reign is o’er.
By noon you raise a sea of stars
More golden than before.

36, Dandy Dandelion by Christopher Morley

When Dandy Dandelion wakes
And combs his yellow hair,
The ant his cup of dewdrop takes
And sets his bed to air;
The worm hides in a quilt of dirt
To keep the thrush away,
The beetle dons his pansy shirt—
They know that it is day!
And caterpillars haste to milk
The cowslips in the grass;
The spider, in his web of silk,
Looks out for flies that pass.
These humble people leap from bed,
They know the night is done:
When Dandy spreads his golden head
They think he is the sun!
Dear Dandy truly does not smell
As sweet as some bouquets;
No florist gathers him to sell,
He withers in a vase;
Yet in the grass he’s emperor,
And lord of high renown;
And grateful little folk adore
His bright and shining crown.

37, Dandelion by Nellie M. Garabrant

There’s a dandy little fellow,
Who dresses all in yellow,
In yellow with an overcoat of green;
With his hair all crisp and curly,
In the springtime bright and early
A-tripping o’er the meadow he is seen.
Through all the bright June weather,
Like a jolly little tramp,
He wanders o’er the hillside, down the road;
Around his yellow feather,
Thy gypsy fireflies camp;
His companions are the wood lark and the toad.

But at last this little fellow
Doffs his dainty coat of yellow,
And very feebly totters o’er the green;
For he very old is growing
And with hair all white and flowing,
A-nodding in the sunlight he is seen.
Oh, poor dandy, once so spandy,
Golden dancer on the lea!
Older growing, white hair flowing,
Poor little baldhead dandy now is he!

38, The Dandelions by Helen Gray Cone

Upon a showery night and still,
Without a sound of warning,
A trooper band surprised the hill,
And held it in the morning.

We were not waked by bugle-notes,
No cheer our dreams invaded,
And yet, at dawn, their yellow coats
On the green slopes paraded.

We careless folk the deed forgot;
Till one day, idly walking,
We marked upon the self-same spot
A crowd of veterans talking.

They shook their trembling heads and gray
With pride and noiseless laughter;
When, well-a-day! they blew away,
And ne’er were heard of after!

39, Little Dandelion by Helen Barron Bostwick

Happy little Dandelion
Lights up the meads,
Swings on her slender foot,
Telleth her beads,
Lists to the robin’s note
Poured from above;
Wise little Dandelion
Asks not for love.

Cold lie the daisy banks
Clothed but in green,
Where, in the days agone,
Bright hues were seen.
Wild pinks are slumbering,
Violets delay;
True little Dandelion
Greeteth the May.

Brave little Dandelion!
Fast falls the snow,
Bending the daffodil’s
Haughty head low.
Under that fleecy tent,
Careless of cold,
Blithe little Dandelion
Counteth her gold.

Meek little Dandelion
Groweth more fair,
Till dies the amber dew
Out from her hair.
High rides the thirsty sun,
Fiercely and high;
Faint little Dandelion
Closeth her eye.

Pale little Dandelion,
In her white shroud,
Heareth the angel-breeze
Call from the cloud;
Tiny plumes fluttering
Make no delay;
Little winged Dandelion
Soareth away.

40, The Dandelion by Elizabeth Reynolds Hapgood

Golden the dandelion—Miser, for shame!
Spread out for bee or worm—all hoards the same.

No use in copying it—golden disk spread—
Lightly it nods and sways in its green bed.

Bluebirds are carolling high overhead
Robins strut saucily—(So the worm said.)

Bumble-bees greedily swarm from the clover—
Clumsily—golden floors tempting the rover.

Far from the toil and fret—fair carpet spread—
As in a fairy dream—would you be led?

Then come—the skies are blue. Throw yourself down:
Golden the dandelion as a king’s crown;

And the green carpet spread bears you to-day
Back to fair childhood dreams—far, far away.

41, The Hawkbit by Charles G. D. Roberts

How sweetly on the autumn scene,
When haws are red amid the green,
The hawkbit shines with face of cheer,
The favorite of the faltering year!

When days grow short and nights grow cold,
How fairly gleams its eye of gold
On pastured field and grassy hill,
Along the roadside and the rill!

It seems the spirit of a flower,
This offspring of the autumn hour,
Wandering back to earth to bring
Some kindly afterthought of spring.

A dandelion’s ghost might so
Amid Elysian meadows blow,
Become more fragile and more fine
Breathing the atmosphere divine.

42, To the Dandelion by James Russell Lowell

Dear common flower, that grow’st beside the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
First pledge of blithesome May,
Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold,
High-hearted buccaneers, o’erjoyed that they
An Eldorado in the grass have found,
Which not the rich earth’s ample round
May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be.

Gold such as thine ne’er drew the Spanish prow
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,
Nor wrinkled the lean brow
Of age, to rob the lover’s heart of ease;
‘Tis the Spring’s largess, which she scatters now
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand,
Though most hearts never understand
To take it at God’s value, but pass by
The offered wealth with unrewarded eye.

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy;
To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime;
The eyes thou givest me
Are in the heart, and heed not space or time:
Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee
Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment
In the white lily’s breezy tent,
His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first
From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass,
Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,
Where, as the breezes pass,
The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,
Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,
Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue
That from the distance sparkle through
Some woodland gap, and of a sky above,
Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move.

My childhood’s earliest thoughts are linked with thee;
The sight of thee calls back the robin’s song,
Who, from the dark old tree
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long,
And I, secure in childish piety,
Listened as if I heard an angel sing
With news from heaven, which he could bring
Fresh every day to my untainted ears
When birds and flowers and I were happy peers.

How like a prodigal doth nature seem,
When thou, for all thy gold, so common art!
Thou teachest me to deem
More sacredly of every human heart,
Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam
Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show,
Did we but pay the love we owe,
And with a child’s undoubting wisdom look
On all these living pages of God’s book.

43, To a Dandelion by Helen M. Johnson

Blessings on thy sunny face,
In my heart thou hast a place,
Humble Dandelion!
Forms more lovely are around thee,
Purple violets surround thee,—
But I know thy honest heart
Never felt a moment’s smart
At another’s good or beauty,—
Ever at thy post of duty,
Smiling on the great and small,
Rich and poor, and wishing all
Health, and happiness, and pleasure,
Oh, thou art a golden treasure!

I remember years ago,
How I longed to see thee blow,
Humble Dandelion!
Through the meadows I would wander,
O’er the verdant pastures yonder,
Filling hands and filling lap,
Till the teacher’s rap, rap, rap,
Sounding on the window sash
Dreadful as a thunder crash,
Galled me from my world ideal
To a world how sad and real,—
From a laughing sky and brook
To a dull old spelling-book;
Then with treasures hid securely,
To my seat I crept demurely.

Childhood’s careless days are o’er,
Happy school days come no more,
Humble Dandelion!
Through a desert I am walking,
Hope eluding, pleasure mocking,
Every earthly fountain dry,
Yet when thou didst meet mine eye,
Something like a beam of gladness
Did illuminate my sadness,
And I hail thee as a friend
Come a holiday to spend
By the couch of pain and anguish.
Where I suffer, moan and languish.

When at length I sink to rest,
And the turf is on my breast,
Humble Dandelion!
Wilt thou when the morning breaketh,
And the balmy spring awaketh,
Bud and blossom at a breath
From the icy arms of death,
Wilt thou smile upon my tomb?
Drawing beauty from the gloom,
Making life less dark and weary,
Making death itself less dreary,
Whispering in a gentle tone
To the mourner sad and lone,
Of a spring-time when the sleeper
Will arise to bless the weeper?

44, Dandelion by Annie Rankin Annan

At dawn, when England’s childish tongue
Lisped happy truths, and men were young,
Her Chaucer, with a gay content
Hummed through the shining fields, scarce bent
By poet’s foot, and, plucking, set,
All lusty, sunny, dewy-wet,
A dandelion in his verse,
Like the first gold in childhood’s purse.

At noon, when harvest colors die
On the pale azure of the sky,
And dreams through dozing grasses creep
Of winds that are themselves asleep,
Rapt Shelley found the airy ghost
Of that bright flower the spring loves most,
And ere one silvery ray was blown
From its full disk made it his own.

Now from the stubble poets glean
Scant flowers of thought; the Muse would wean
Her myriad nurslings, feeding them
On petals plucked from a dry stem.
For one small plumule still adrift,
The wind-blown dandelion’s gift,
The fields once blossomy we scour
Where the old poets plucked the flower.

45, Dandelion by Ida Celia Whittier

The yellow dandelions, discouraged, bloom
In city yards, sprinkled with dusty grass.
Even like one of them, O thought of gloom!
My life must pass.

The dandelion sees the lilac toss,
Proud in her purple dress, a haughty head;
In her cold heart there lurks no sense of loss,
No dream lies dead.

But the wild dandelion remembers well
Dim dreams of beauty in the western plains,
Sloping to where the sunset’s glories tell
Of golden gains.

And dreams of mountain peaks, divinely high,
With clouded brows, and bosoms cold with snow;
Of canyons, darkly grand, where echoes sigh,
And pure streams flow.

Of oceans rolling ever, wave on wave,
With depths like forest green, and snowy crests;
Of ocean caves, where shadowy mermaids lave
Their snowy breasts.

She sees the gardens of the west, that yield
Miles of the fairest roses, purely white,
Mocking the distant mountain’s snowy field,
Dazzlingly bright.

And, sweetest dream of all, the grassy hill,
Cool in the twilight hour, and calm as sleep
Where dandelions bloom, and wild birds trill,
And wild vines creep.

Ah, to be there, among the poppy’s flames,
Where daisies star the violets’ field of blue!
Far from the city yard, whose primness blames
Her sunny hue.

46, The Dandelion by Kate Louise Wheeler

One day, in spring, I took a walk
And spied, within a field of green,
A slender dandelion stock,
Upon whose top a flower was seen.

Soon after, passing by the place,
I noticed that the flower of gold,
Whose stiffened stalk had lost it’s grace,
Was turning gray and growing old.

To-day, upon the self same ground,
I see a stalk undecked and spare;
The flower that once was golden-crowned,
Has lost it’s—gray it’s head is bare.

How like a child is this gay flower,
With golden hair and graceful mien,
Which comes to brighten many an hour
And add a charm to dullest scene!

But soon the golden turns to gray
And middle life comes on apace;
The gray then hurries on its way,
And old age comes to take it’s place.

47, Dandelions in the Sun by Annette Wynne

Dandelions in the sun,
Golden dollars every one,
Let us pick them and go buy
All the sea and all the sky.

Dandelions in the sun,
Golden dollars every one—
Who can be as rich as we
Buying sky and hill and sea!

48, May by Henry Sylvester Cornwell

Come walk with me along this willowed lane,
Where, like lost coinage from some miser’s store,
The golden dandelions more and more
Glow, as the warm sun kisses them again!
For this is May! who with a daisy chain
Leads on the laughing Hours; for now is o’er
Long winter’s trance. No longer rise and roar
His forest-wrenching blasts. The hopeful swain,
Along the furrow, sings behind his team;
Loud pipes the redbreast – troubadour of spring,
And vocal all the morning copses ring;
More blue the skies in lucent lakelets gleam;
And the glad earth, caressed by murmuring showers,
Wakes like a bride, to deck herself with flowers!

49, Harvest by Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz

In the meadow-grass
The innocent white daisies blow,
The dandelion plume doth pass
Vaguely to and fro, –
The unquiet spirit of a flower
That hath too brief an hour.

50, From “A Rhapsody” by John Clare

Tis May; and yet the March flower Dandelion
Is still in bloom among the emerald grass,
Shining like guineas with the sun’s warm eye on–
We almost think they are gold as we pass,
Or fallen stars in a green sea of grass.
They shine in fields, or waste grounds near the town.
They closed like painter’s brush when even was.
At length they turn to nothing else but down,
While the rude winds blow off each shadowy crown.

51, The Dandelion by Anonymous

I am the dandelion
Longing for the breeze
I am the waterfall
Searching for the sea
I am the starlight
Keeping you from sleep
I am the distance
Always out of reach

52, Dandelionn by Like Washington

There was a dandelion,
With lovely, fluffy hair,
That glistened in the sunshine,
And in the summer air.
And oh! This pretty dandelion
Soon grew old and grey,
And, sad to tell! Her charming hair,
Blew many miles away

53, Dandelion Oh Dandelion by Star BG

With puff of breath
entwined with a wish
my energetic breath aims out.

Out toward dandelion.
And like sacred flying fairies
the little seeds take flight.

Ready to plant firmly
in break of day.

Thank you dandelion
for roaring with airs whisper
to move in grace
to go into Mothers soil
and bring a dream to sprout.

54, Dandelion by Kate Ballalatak

what is worse for a dandelion?
to lose its soft, seedy ball of cotton,
blown into the wind
by a whispering dreamer?
or to fail in granting the wish
of a small child, too young to realize
that a dandelion is only a pretty little ****?

55, Dandelion Love by Bails B

A young princess stoops,
plucking a dandelion from the earth.
She smiles, twirling it between her fingers,
soon bringing the dandelion close to her lips.
Her message, she whispers to the tiny seeds.
Softly as can be she blows on the dandelion,
sending the cotton-white fluff
soaring into the cool breeze,
carrying her words, spreading her love
down on the citizens in her kingdom.

56, Dandelion Bones Love by Farah

I wake up on your side of the bed
cold, without you to bring sunlight
to dandelion bones, shaken by the
violent winds
and dimmed stars that sew our
eyes shut, together and then apart
like children on swing sets
on a warm summer night.

blow these dandelion bones far
apart and into the sky
till I’m void of anything but
battered skin and galaxy bruises
till I’m nothing but
everything.

57, Wild Dandelion by Kerri

A lump of eminence
Swells in her throat,
But she swallows it down
Flashing a shiny, humble smile.
This wild dandelion grows in the sun
and dances to the beat of the wind,
Scattering seeds of peace
And songs of love
In every corner of the world.
She floats among the stars
Crashing perfectly into
Every illustrious constellation.
As she shakes the stardust from her hair
And dusts her glitter-speckled shoulders,
She reaps the benefit
Of her selfless, meaningful offerings.

58, Dandelion by Line Gauthier

Always in the limelight
Cheerful and bright
I find you as wonderful
As you are bountiful
Yellow dots swaggered
Here and there scattered
Like a child’s laughter
You epitomize summer
Dandelions wild and free
You are beautiful to me

59, Love for a Dandelion by Pink Faerie

When I was a child I loved you so
I am older now and I love you more
You have given me optimism and hope my entire life
Your pureness of heart and your whimsical look
delight me no more than the yellow chalk
you put under my chin proving I love butter.

60, Dandelion Fields by Purrsanthema

I think of childhood and its fields of flowers:
The silver dandelions and the gold —
Those beauties that entranced us by the hours,
Those living smiles with laughter’s wealth untold;
Our vacant lots, transformed, with all their powers,
Unto a scene so gorgeous to behold;
Where I could wander as the robin’s guest,
Enjoy the prairie’s living treasure chest.

Unlike the daisy’s sad ambivalence,
The angel dandelion, filled with truth,
Would grant us wishes beyond common sense
That Leprechauns had worked out in their youth:
The flower of summer wine, with no pretense,
Like sunlight’s sherry or the gods’ vermouth;
And fragrant salad greens, in friendly fields,
With sky blue chicory, that coffee yields.

61, Dandelion by Morgan Mercury

I never thought I would fall for you twice,
but here I am writing this poem.
I’m just a dandelion lost in this greenhouse
surrounded by these blooming beauties.
But hoping, hopefully
you would make a wish out of me.
You’ve got this look that makes me crave adventure.
You’ve got mountains in your eyes
and the northern wind in your soul.
I can’t remember the last thing you said to me
and that’s okay.
We never talked much thanks to my anxiety.
I’m not too far but my words have failed me so many moons
how am I suppose to talk to you?
You’ve got your future gripped tight by the wrist
and my hands are lost in all this space.
Maybe sometime in the years to come, I’ll discover your footprints
and remember my high school crush all over again.
I’ll stop and think if you’re out in California making coffee for people,
like I overheard you say you wanted to do in math class that one time,
or strumming a guitar solo on stage somewhere in the city.
I just hope wherever you find yourself in time to come you’re happy and smiling brighter than the stars.
I know not much will happen in these last eight months we have together,
but I want to thank you for the day you introduced yourself to me because you knew no one else in the class.
I know I’m just a dandelion in this great big greenhouse,
but I’m just really happy that you noticed me.

62, Dandelion Oh Dandelion by Star BG

With puff of breath
entwined with a wish
my energetic breath aims out.

Out toward dandelion.
And like sacred flying fairies
the little seeds take flight.

Ready to plant firmly
in break of day.

Thank you dandelion
for roaring with airs whisper
to move in grace
to go into Mothers soil
and bring a dream to sprout.

63, Dandelion by Amy Perry

I am the breath you exhale
That sends dandelion seeds asail.
To you, a momentary pleasure,
While it gives my life new measure.
You’ve plucked me from home,
Blew me into the unknown.
I might be a seed under your boot,
My existence could seem moot.
But next summer, when you’ve lost incentive
In momentary pleasures, no longer attentive,
I’ll be in full bloom.
Pick me up, I’ll rebound again soon.

64, Dandelion Love by Bails B

A young princess stoops,
plucking a dandelion from the earth.
She smiles, twirling it between her fingers,
soon bringing the dandelion close to her lips.
Her message, she whispers to the tiny seeds.
Softly as can be she blows on the dandelion,
sending the cotton-white fluff
soaring into the cool breeze,
carrying her words, spreading her love
down on the citizens in her kingdom.

65, Dandelion Kisses by Taiga Rawr

Dandelion kisses
Blown away by the wind.
The feathery seeds left me;
In which way have I sinned?

I don’t deserve these broken shards
Embedded in my heart.
Was it truly a lie when you told me
“‘Till death do us part”?

I feel most betrayed because
I’m lying to myself.
Are they just mere myths of inexistent
Romance like the Elf on the Shelf?

I write from inexperience;
I call them ‘true lies’.
I’ve never a dandelion kiss,
Just slight contact of the eyes.

There are no cuts in my heart,
Just plain jealousy.
My pure white wedding was only
A dream replayed endlessly.

So I’ll tell you this:
They say that writing is expressive;
But though my words are dishonest
I have to say, they’re quite impressive.

66, Dandelion by Peter Campion

I remember picking dandelions as a kid
gathering a bouquet to bring to my teacher or mom
the innocence behind it
I didn’t know that these beautiful flowers were actually
weeds in disguise
That it could bring so much pain and suffering
despite how cheery it may look

Sometimes, I feel like a dandelion
People wishing on me to be different
Laughing and running away as my emotions fly away into the breeze
Planting new ones as they fall to the ground

The roots reach down into the soil of my soul
and tug at different inclinations I once thought were gone
The whispers of breath trickle down my spine like secrets
I wasn’t supposed to hear
They grab at my brain
telling me I’m not good enough
simply a weed,
meant to be tossed off to the side

Sometimes, I feel like a dandelion
People wishing on me to be different
Laughing and running away as my emotions fly away into the breeze
Planting new ones as they fall to the ground

Weeds don’t belong in the garden
Yet they have so much resistance
they keep coming back
despite being rejected
over and over again
Their resilience reveals itself in its rapture
facing fear flying forwards
only looking to the future

Sometimes, I feel like a dandelion
People wishing on me to be different
Laughing and running away as my emotions fly away into the breeze
Planting new ones as they fall to the ground

My favorite flower is a dandelion
I have always been drawn to the yellow complexion
Bringing tears of euphoria to my eyes
instead of those of discomfort
The way it flourishes among the other weeds
Dancing its yellow song through the waves of pride
Waving its flag of restoration

Sometimes, I feel like a dandelion
Confident in who I am
Reaching forward
Rooting myself in a place where I need to be
I may be a weed
But I am beautiful

67, The Dandelion by Peter Campion

O dandelion, rich and haughty,
King of village flowers!
Each day is coronation time,
You have no humble hours
I like to see you bring a troop
To beat the blue-grass spears,
To scorn the lawn-mower that would be
Like fate’s triumphant shears
Your yellow heads are cut away
It seems your reign is o’er
By noon you raise a sea of stars
More golden than before

68, Dandelion by Laura E. Richards

“Pretty seeds, what makes you fly,
Now here, now there, now low, now high?”
“’Tis the wind lifts me!
‘Tis the wind drifts me
Tosses me in merry play,
Here and there and every way.”

69, The Dandelion Cycle by Emilie Poulsson

“Pretty little Goldilocks, shining in the sun,
Pray, what will become of you when the summer’s done ?”

“Then I’ll be old Silverhead; for, as I grow old,
All my shining hair will be white instead of gold.

“And where rests a silver hair that has blown from me,
Other little Goldilocks in the Spring you’ll see!

“Goldilocks to Silverhead, Silverhead to gold,
So the change is going on every year, I’m told.”

70, Conversation With A Dandelion by Jim Yerman

When I was young I’d pick dandelions…pick them with aplomb
I’d make a little bouquet and take it home to Mom.

I never thought much about it…never saw the need…
after all they weren’t really flowers…just a bunch of weeds.

I was expressing that thought the other day when a dandelion overheard
“Excuse me, ” he interrupted, “but your thinking is absurd.”

“I am a lovely flower…grown from a beautiful seed.”
(I can’t believe I was about to have a conversation with a weed!)

I spread out on the lawn and met that dandelion face to face
“OK! I am listening.” I said to her. “Go ahead and make your case.”

“Well, without being too modest, ” she began. “people pick me every day
and when they pick a lot of me I become a beautiful bouquet.”

“How many times are we brought to a house and make someone’s mother weep? “
“Did you know I open to greet the morning and in the evening close to sleep.”

“You can travel across the globe…searching everywhere low and high
and you won’t fine another flower who can symbolize the sky.”

“When I am yellow I resemble the sun as it shines in the heavens at noon.”
“When I change into a puff ball…I look just like the moon.”

“And I don’t think I’m taking this comparison a bit too far
when I say that as my seeds fly off…they look just like the stars.”

“There is no doubt when I arrive…from the moment my blooms unfurled
I make people smile and bring beauty to the world.”

“Ok…OK you made your point! ” I said.”There’s nothing more you need to say
but I have to tell you dandelion…you had me at bouquet.”

So now I understand and I’m on the dandelion as a flower bandwagon
Perhaps it’s time I have a talk with that fly
who thinks he is a dragon.

71, Dandelions Are Falling by Peter S. Quinn

Dandelions are falling
On to autumn song
Destiny is calling
Of day of gone and long
Dreams that stood by
In all the days gone
When the summer sky
Was still here carrying on

Time of lost ways
Weary mornings rising
In their inter moody plays
Of nature winterizing
As their feelings go
Into oblivions fall
With days falling glow
On to the autumns’ call

Dandelions now flying
Every worth its lightness
Raindrops dreary crying
Before gloom of brightness
Dreams of winter coming
In their turning tides
Falling now blossoming
As darkness here abides

72, Dandelions by Phil Soar

Blown away by breezes
Or a Gardener as he sneezes
A Dandelions seeds can cause dismay
For they spread and deeply root
Where conditions really suit
And you cannot drive the bloody things away

73, Sonnet: On Dandelions by Dr. A.Celestine Raj Manohar M.D.,

The common dandelions grow everywhere;
The weeds pop up with ease throughout the year;
The parachuted seeds infect the air;
The yellow flower seems so very dear!

Like lion teeth, the composite flow’r looks;
The seeds are formed much faster than we think;
The tap-root and the leaves make dainty cooks;
The seeds can spread afar within eyes-wink!

B-vitamins, it has are numerous;
The milky sap of leaves can cure moles, wart;
The herb found world-wide appears bee- gorgeous;
Some people use each and every plant part.

These common flowers decorate most parks;
Dandelion tea turns people into sharks!

74, Love Is Like Dandelions by Sonny Rainshine

Love is like dandelions,
profligate and common.
But have you ever picked up
a dandelion and looked beyond
its reputation?

Worn-out words,
pretty yellow weeds.
Love is boundless;
Language is limited.

75, Dandelion by Unwritten Soul

Wind hush is the sky breath
It spreads cotton wings
White and light
And it’s you try to fly
Away from this ground
A field of dandelions

You traveling by the air
With the emotions there
A will to find a strength
Before grow as a new dandelion
I know u always be the brave one
Time to discover earth in your lifetime
Be brave just like other dandelion

Great to know you will be fine
Because i hope you always fine
Forbidden line is not exist
You free across the mist
No boundary for you, dandelion
Flying freely and never be afraid
The choice you take
It’s not wrong to be brave
I know one day you will find a place
Somewhere for you growing strong and flowering grace
Perhaps we don’t know where but you deserve something
Like dancing in the air you will cheer with happiness
There’s still a long journey
Before a seed to find a site
A basement to grow
Taller and restart great life,
Bear everything all bright

Just like other dandelions
Traveling surround you is mystery
Nobody wanted to invite hurt
In the journey if it comes
Forget not poison comes with remedy
O Friend make easy stand
Close friend will never end
Understanding is the sand
For you dandelion growing strength
White wings make beautiful land
It’s been a while but i know
One day you will travel far from here

In the air we’ll always keep in touch
Not much what you asked as it is a must
Because my friend, you aren’t like a dust
Blown to somewhere then settled in quietness
To left and ignored after the passing past
Sometimes hello don’t need a bye
But now you must fly and chase your dream
As friend always be there and understand
Without hands to hold or eyes to see
and i am glad u know i always there
and i always be there

76, The Dandelion by Marilyn Lott

It’s not that the dandelion isn’t pretty
I mean the color yellow is very nice
Brilliant they are, like the color of the sun
For a flower you’d choose it twice.

But it is a “weed” my friend, it is
And obnoxious with a root
That would simply go to China
And further it would go to boot.

It doesn’t mind any kind of weather
Oh no, it is not at all shy
It grows where other things
Would flounder or simply die.

Some folks spray it from a can of poison
Or dig with a shovel perhaps too
Or use a forked tool and then
Wish they would disappear like I do.

BUT, did you ever have your child
Or a grandchild do it too
Bring you one with a smile on their face
Just for someone they love – that’s you!

77, Dandelion by Randy McClave

In my garden there was a dandelion
I plucked it from where it did grow
Like a child I was amazed by its mystery
So then upon it, I gently did blow,
I made a wish as I did when I was young
As the seedlings had taken to the air
The thought brought me back when I was a youth
And for a moment once again, I was there,
Hundreds of her seeds then hit the breeze
As they floated and began their wandering
It was an odyssey that was created by myself
But where would they go, I started pondering,
Some took to the breeze to continue their trek
And some floated slowing to the ground
While some went sailing out of my sight
That moment for me was quite profound,
In my garden all my dandelions are now gone
Their seedlings have been taken up in the wind
Each one I released with a wish and a breath
Freedom and a new awakening to all I did send,
The seedlings soon will find themselves a new home
Upon a yard they will land and will lie still
Now what once was mystery and an odyssey to me
Will now become a reality, as a yellow daffodil.

78, The Dandelion by Kevin Patrick

A delicate dandelion, stood; unassumingly
In the frozen rush hour pasture of thousands
Swaying brazenly to the subtle warm breeze
Like a giddy child running round a swimming pool
While jewels of yellow tresses licked by the sun
Beamed ostentatious merriment and pomp
As if God sent angels of cinema photography
To feed each floret under an intense spotlight
Leaving every strand a brighter shade of gold
Until it was nothing but a living painting
Inserted with a clandestine message that said:
“X marks the spot to heavens backdoor”

I saw it hanging their one bright blue afternoon
When solitary clouds are poached egg white
Pass the preassembled suburban skid rows
Hidden off the demilitarized zone of asphalt
It was cloistered between arches of tall grasses
Where it stood among the weeded throng
And then spoke to me inside its colour
And I knew it was all creation in a flower

Beneath the petals, beneath the arteries and veins
Inside the chloroplast within its breast
Deep within its molecules that make the chemicals
Down and down into the bases of primeval atoms
Coalesced into subatomic particles and beneath that:
The Universe and everything that ever was
Held together in the center of a solitary weed
Where only my senses could sharply see
The veil between worlds in which all things were

I looked at it half tense with trepidation
And another half with complete inebriation
To think this weed, this brat of unwanted seed
Was the key to paradise to all realities
Galaxies winked in the cusp of the blossoms
Nabulus scattered in clusters with comets
Entire solar systems formed, lived and died in moments
And then I saw God itself wave back to me
And in another moment gone, as if it had never been

I never saw paradise again, but I learned
You can find a universe in everything
If you look close… and then…
Watch its die and give birth again

79, The Dandelions Were Listening by Mary Nagy

I never did the
”He loves me not….
He loves me” game
with flowers.
I already knew nobody loved me
so why should I listen
to a stupid flower?

I did make wishes
on dandelions
after the bloom died
and it was tiny spikes of fluff
waiting to blow away
till next year.

I hated wasting my time
but I couldn’t resist.
I figured
”If there’s even a small hope
that this will work….
I’ve got to try! ”

I would find a spot
where nobody could see me
and I’d whisper
my one wish
the same wish
every time.

Thousands of dandelions
blown away
by my pleading breath.

I never told a soul
my wishes.
Until now.
I wished to be happy
one day…
with a husband
who loves me
and kids who love me.
I wished so hard…

I never thought
those dandelions
were listening.

→ Read more: Poems About Violet Flowers or Famous Poems About Flowers