There is a field across the way
Where dandelions bloom in May.
Like Flanders field, where hopes fly
And dreams too often come to die,
The flowers dot the field like fleets
Despite the pounding thud of cleats.
Like sailboats within the harbor
They form a dense and stunted arbor.
Two islands, rivals since the start
Take to this field with beating heart.
Boys or men or in between
As faceless foes, stride to be seen
In sweet victory or sour defeat
At the end of that annual Island meet.
Each captain and coach begins to shout
In fury of the coming bout:
“We hate these guys,” says one.
“Let’s get this win and be done.”
Like all the others, one boy thunders,
But secretly his mind wanders,
And all he thinks is, Whoa,
How do those dandelions still grow?