Travelling Seeds

By Lori Friesen

When I was a seedling my roots were strong. With newly-formed buds my stem grew long.

My flower opened wide and was pollinated by a bee. Under each floret, a seed was formed that all could see.

My flower soon turned gentle, wispy and white. No longer a beautiful bloom but seeds ready to take flight.

The wind came and carried my seeds far away. Landing in a new spot, I wait to become a bouquet.

I grow in the woods and people don’t like me. They say I’m a pest, they call me a weed.

Just wait until my flowers bloom, my spiky seeds will cause much gloom!

A dog brushes past with lovely thick fur, my aim is perfect, I release my burr. I go for a ride until they welp, “Get this off me! I need help!”

When I’m picked off and left in a new place, I’m ready to start over, to leave a new trace.

I’m bright red and sweet and a bird's favourite treat. When eaten I sit and then I wait, until it is time to reach my fate. Down I go, down I’m plopped. I grow again, where I’m dropped.