Obituary
O dandelion, rich and haughty, King of village flowers! Each day is coronation time, You have no humble hours. I like to see you bring a troop To beat the blue-grass spears, To scorn the lawn-mower that would be Like fate's triumphant shears. Your white heads are cut away, It seems your reign is o'er. By noon you raise a sea of stars More whiter than before.
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