The dandelion sends off its seeds, hoping they'll land on the moon.

I too look up with hope in my heart, though I taste the sour cream of defeat on my tongue and my skin is scarred, thanks to my experiences.

I hear a voice whisper "The brutal winds shall tarnish all of your efforts" Deep down within me, I feel convinced that I shall still give it a try.

The field, which was once gold and brown, littered with dead leaves, is occupied by fresh green grasses.

They are so green and bursting with hope. Then the most convincing smell of victory approaches my nose.

I sniff it in, I am consoled when I see that the dandelion sends off its seeds, hoping they'll land on the moon.