A lady in Nova Scotia found this poem in an old magazine in her attic in 1905. She sent it to Reader's Digest many years later when she no longer had a home.
She talks about the fact that the lawn was never cut until the dandelions were over. She describes the picture on the page as having a pale blue sky and a new moon. In the foreground were three little yellow dandelions. In the background was a big one which had gone to seed. Here is the poem which describes it so beautifully.
If you should ask me whether I
believe in spooks, I should reply,
The only spook I can rely on
Is that of Uncle Dandelion.
T'was just the hour when twilight ceases,
His ghost appeared to his three nieces.
His face beneath the crescent moon,
Was like a gossamer balloon.
Miss Anne and Fan Delion's knees shook
Though it might have been the breeze.
Miss Nan although she made no sound,
Was firmly rooted to the ground.
And then the breeze got fresh and,
Tore off Uncle's wig and right before the
frightened eyes of his three nieces
Blew Uncle in a thousand pieces.
By Mrs. Edith B. Harris
Annapolis Royal, N.S.
Me too I enjoy it every time I read it.ReplyDelete