I amble through my garden,
Admiring my flowers,
Listening to their sweet words.
“Who is your favorite of all your flowers?”
They always seem to ask me.
My eye wanders to my red rose,
Cavalier and coveted.
That is the answer they expect
And the one they are given.
But the truth is deeply-rooted.

There’s a dandelion, hiding
In the darkest corner of my garden.
Its yellow, penetrating petals
Are sparsely scattered among my flowers,
Camouflaged to others, but exigent to me
This perilous, enticing weed
Haunts my thoughts,
Consumes my dreams.
Still, I’ll never pick that pest
Because, if you ask me,
I will say,

It’s not hurting anything.

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