You call us weeds, meaning plants you don't like,
forgetting the Old French ancestry of our name,
dents de lion, teeth of the lion,
meaning our jagged leaves
that some still use in salads,
forgetting our other gentle ways:
children gathering our bright flowers
in jars of water, proudly displayed to parents
who sometimes notice our light wine fragrance;
how are bright yellow heads have hidden
under many chins, revealing
who likes butter, and who does not;
forgetting how we turn to light puffs,
the pleasure of blowing us away.
Only to return next season,
next and next and next--
Spring's confetti,
profuse celebration