Those little fluffy things that fly away
Like thoughts and ideas
That have gone astray
A little resistance and off they go
Floating about til
They find a place to land
A patch of grass to fill
They say they're weeds
I'm not sure why
They seem a lot like flowers to me
But much more independant
They sprout up where they will
Those dandelions do
A mind of their own
No one likes that
A good flower grows only where it's planted
And stays within the proper confines
"Be more like a daffodil!
You wretched dandelion,
Messing up the green of grass
With your patchy yellow.
You'll never be as good as a real flower."
But you can aspire
And even weeds are pretty sometimes
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