My Gold

My neighbors don't like my gay garden of gold;

They fume and they fret and complain

They say unkind things at my back, I am told--

But I love this fair plot, just the same.

My garden of gold is a rank growing patch

Of dandelion flowers, you see;

For a display of glory you can't find their match

So come up and enjoy them with me.

You will marvel, I'm sure, at the charm of each bloom;

At the impudent smile on its face;

How they grow in a mass till there hardly is room

For anything else on the place.

But I wouldn't uproot them to let carrots grow;

And I wouldn't make way for the lawn;

They are lovely to see and you don't need to mow

The spaces they're growing upon.

If the rain doesn't come, they don't wither and die.

They just spread out their gold all the more;

And you know by the opulent look in my eye

That there's treasure of beauty in store.

Even when they grow tall and the gold turns to grey;

They are beautiful baubles of light;

And if some errant wind comes to whisk them away

I am saddened to know of their plight.

I'm a miser, I guess, with my garden of gold.

I'm content if my wealth multiplies;

Though I know very well that the neighbors who scold

Have contempt for the blooms that I prize.

So let my gold run to the very far edge

Of the border line closing me in;

If my fair flowers come on your side of the hedge--

It's a prodigal kind of a sin!