  Dandelion, dandelion, Where's your cup of gold? Where's your jacket green and trim That you wore of old? Then you nodded to the birds In a jaunty way, And you danced to every tune The breeze could play. Dandelion, dandelion, Age comes creeping on, And your wig is snowy white, Golden locks are gone; But you've had a merry time Since your days began, And even now you're a cheery, Blithe old man. —George Cooper. |
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