The Voice Issue 29: May/June 2017 - Page 18



(Inspired by Robert Frost)

Often I see dandelions

Grace a sunny pasture,

Bowing to all of the world.

Why they’re called weeds, I’m not sure,

They dip and drop their yellow crowns,

Dancing with the breeze,

As yellow as the noontime sun

Or buzzing, black-striped bees,

In late Summer, before Autumn

The dandelions change,

Their yellow crowns whiten with age

And softly float away,

When Winter comes, a frosty storm,

The dandelions brown,

The soft snowflakes cover them up

The dandelions drown,

When Spring sweeps across the cold land

The sun shines on the world,

The dandelions’ seeds take root

And tiny sprouts unfurl,

As Summer slowly drapes the land

In new waves of sun rays,

The dandelions’ crowns appear,

And again bow and wave.

- Eden Anne Bauer, Crossroads Academy, Lyme, NH