John Frost

It is no wonder dandelions bellow:
Mother Summer no longer holds her child.
Forsaken are those petals, soft and yellow,
Left to wither and writhe in Autumn’s wild.

Green-grass-beds growing darker, turning brown;
Bright-colored leaves all fall, then suffocate.
Flossy seed balls dropped hard on frozen ground,
Crushed beneath burly acorn’s massive weight!

Frail tap roots cling to the swirl of Earth’s flight,
Uprooted by great eolian force,
Blown about in skies devoid of sunlight,
Jaunting off to the unknown chartered course...

...Why flowers pass is not without sound reason,
As Nature demonstrates with each fall season:

For all things born in Time must surely die;
No wonder why the dandelions cry.