Poetry – The Dandelion Clock


The dandelion blossoms gay
From the fields have passed away,
And in their place left heads of grey.

Now, Minnie, won’t it be good fun
For each of us to gather one,
And sit and blow them in the sun?

Very hard we both must blow,
And scatter all the seeds like snow,
That will be ‘one o’clock,’ you know.

— anonymous

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