A Beautiful Death

I know I shouldn't envy,

I really shouldn't care, 

But they have a strength and bravery

For an act I'd never dare.

You may guess roses are the best,

Favored by any and all around,

But you really shouldn't jest,

When dandelions should be crowned.


Whether yellow bright and plentiful–

Subtle, but nevertheless beautiful–

Or made of seeds, fluffy and white,

Dandelions are really quite a sight.

They make flower crowns

To match a young kid’s gown,

Or small makeshift bouquets.

Even if they don’t live after these days,

Dandelions are just happy for the joy
They can bring some small boy.

Roses can't grant you a wish–

Not in the way dandelions can.

Roses prick you, hurt you,

Impose a hard to pass ban.

We’re altered, pruned,

Preferred changed, rather than,

Enjoyed in our natural state.

So yes, dandelions often die young,

But to them it is a pleasure.

And it’s not just children they are among,

But to all they are a treasure,

For childhood memories simply cannot measure.

I am but a rose.

Full of beauty, sure,

Some may even say pure.

But I am not loved as I stand

Stuck as some cheap human brand.