Why Dandelions Cry
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.
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Comments about this poem (Why Dandelions Cry by John Frost )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(1498 - 1546)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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