Spring evokes the feeling that everything in the natural world around us is new again and young. However, there is a fanciful poem by an unknown author that illustrates how the life span of each bloom is severely compressed.
The poet describes vividly just how rapidly the ubiquitous dandelion flowers grow old:
Some young and saucy dandelions
Stood laughing in the sun;
They were brimming full of happiness,
And running o’er with fun.
At length they saw beside them
A dandelion old;
His form was bent and withered,
Gone were his locks of gold.
“Oh, Oh!” they cried,” Just see him;
Old greybeard, how d’ye do?
We’d hide our heads in grasses,
If we were bald as you.”
But lo! When dawned the morning,
Up rose each tiny head,
Decked not with golden tresses,
But long grey locks instead.