As I drive down Winnipeg streets
Wellington Crescent to Assiniboine Park
in every lawn, on every boulevard
grow hosts of golden dandelions.
Beside the duck pond, in parking lots,
beyond what eye can see or leg can walk,
their faces shine, harbingers of summer ease,
boon to bugs and butterflies and bees.
“I gazed —and gazed— but little thought”
that humble plant could nourish ought
with tasty leaves for salads fine,
provide even wherewithal for wine.
“Ten thousand saw I at a glance”
beside the road and margin of the river
before grass is green and trees bloom,
hope of approaching season, summer.
As I wander in constant cool of spring
and ponder pensively with vacant mind,
the vibrant yellow near hurts my eyes
mocking the daily wanderer of the sky.
And sometimes when in my bed I lie
enduring quietly some dreary drab environs,
or as I maunder through a grey part of year
my heart is cheered by thoughts of dandelions.