A Dandelion Bouquet (For my Daughter Frances)

There are many flower bouquets of such beautiful designs,
But, they can’t compare to a child’s hand-crushed bouquet of dandelions.

You see, there’s a magic when a child picks flowers in an open field,
Each flower is picked with love; a love that’s forever sealed.

Oh, you can try to direct her to pick only the flowers nearby,
Yet, she’ll run to a far away flower, and we’ll never know why.

Tell her to pick some violets, you might try to suggest,
But, she’ll only pick dandelions . . .you see she likes them the best.

Into her little hand the dandelions are crumpled and crushed,
She may pause in her picking, but she can never be rushed.

Urge her to take the flowers to mom, she has more than enough,
But, she’ll find room in her hand for one more flower to stuff.

At last she concedes, she says her bouquet is complete,
As she presents it to mom, her smile beams oh so sweet.

True, there are many flower bouquets of such beautiful designs,
But, they can’t compare to a child’s hand-crushed bouquet of dandelions.