The boy and the bindweed

Walking out at lunchtime
I saw down at my feet
something from my boyhood
and a memory was piqued
Bindweed on the way to school
white flowers on the way
Picked and popped at passers’ by
on every summer’s day

They grew there in abundance
and though trajectory was short
we didn’t really mind as
they gave merriment and sport
And yes, I know that they will irritate
gardeners nowadays
But then, in all my innocence
they were fun in lots of ways



The dandelion may be a weed
but it’s a very lovely one
With fronds all bright and yellow
reflecting summer sun
So I’m glad I’m not a gardener
for I’d encourage them to grow
Because I am quite fond of yellow
as those who read my poems know
Yes, I admire the dandelion
as to the future with a sign
It reseeds itself from yellow
With a flower that tells the time



It might be a weed
But I don’t care
For it looks really nice
Growing right there
Outside my back door
First thing I see
Going out to the garden
Best place it can be

Coincidence then
When returning inside
It’s the last thing I see
For it’s nowhere to hide
It may well be a weed
But it’s staying in place
As you see what it does
By the smile on my face


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