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An unhappy dandelion exclaimed:

      'Please don’t call me a weed!

I started life, like all of you -

     As a simple little seed.

 

'Then one day, from my meadow home,

      I was carried on the breeze -

Yes, far away from all I knew,

      High up above the trees.

 

'From right up there, I could gaze down

      On woods, on hills and dales

And, like a ship, I sailed the skies

     Upon MY tiny sails.

     

'Then, when the breeze stopped for a rest,

       I gently floated down

And see, I’ve landed where you are,

     On a flower bed of your town.'

 

The other flowers just glared at him:

     'You’re just a common weed!' –

'GOD planted ME,' came his reply,

     'Whilst MAN planted YOUR seed.

 

'GOD decided where I'd grow.

      He sent me sun and rain,' - - -

But a gardener then came on the scene

     And it was very plain - - - 

 

That the dandelion's time on earth

       Had now come to its end,

For no-one here would show him love

      And here he'd find no friend.

 

The dandelion, torn from its home,

      Was a sad sight, yes, indeed -

For it hadn’t learned that in man’s sight,

      It would always be a weed.

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