The French Lion’s Tooth Airborne Division Poem by C Richard Miles

The French lion’s tooth airborne division
Are all prepared, in silk arrayed,
Awaiting a command decision
To launch a daring, daylight raid
And land, with infinite precision
England’s grassy lawns to invade
To be greeted with derision
By guards of gardeners, all dismayed.

They began strict martial training
Camouflaged, not wearing boots,
In wet winter’s constant raining,
Careful to establish roots,
Cocky confidence soon gaining,
Donning ragged yellow suits
Parapets to cross, disdaining,
Keen to wear white parachutes.

Now they land in numbers countless,
Bridgeheads swift establishing,
Networks instigating, doubtless
Of harm’s havoc that they bring.
Once entrenched they need to sprout, lest
Herbicides impart their sting
For their day has come to shout, “Let’s
Rule, the dandelion is king! ”