young hands picked dandelions
for their mothers and their fathers.
they pick, and pick, and pick
until a bouquet forms in their hands
because their family deserves
only the brightest, most beautiful of flowers.

young hands tie together the dandelions
to form necklaces and rings,
to form crowns to go along with their bright kingdom,
because there are so many of them,
and because royalty must wear
only the brightest, most beautiful of flowers.

young minds look up to their older cousin
with a crown of flowers and a bouquet held high,
but the older cousin is drowning,
and he has been dulled by the world,
so he throws down the bouquet,
and knocks off the crown.

and you'll cry,
because you wanted to give him
only the brightest, most beautiful of flowers.

the cousin will take away part of your light
to break it to you that dandelions are not flowers;
they are weeds.

and forever after,
the world will be a little bit more dull,
and the yellow will seem less bright,
the smile on your face will shrink a bit more,
the twinkle in your eye will start to fade.

but maybe if you opened your mind again,
you could notice that dandelions are still beautiful.
refuse to let the world take the things you love
and ruin them.
remember that in your young mind,
you once believed that dandelions were
only the brightest, most beautiful of flowers.