Death of a Dandelion

The day after the trickle came
The day after the fickle frame
Could not wait to go outside
Picked up the tool and bloodlust cried
There cannot be an exodus
The roots cannot be moved by bus
Tangled with each other’s thoughts
Yellow, everywhere in dots
Bleeding out their sticky sap
Soon their will to live will snap
The murdering of all these plants
Will cause the murderer to dance
An exhausted new gard’ner knew
To plant more things where they once grew
Some daffodils perhaps may be
Maybe even a brand new tree
Because they did not die for naught
Instead have moved forward the plot


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