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?