On the wonder of dandelions

I am the sign of warm weather come. I am yellow sunshine to my drab surroundings, my brothers and I scattered as far as the eye can see. I wither before harsh chemicals that burn me down to my roots, vengefully poured out by those in pursuit of an arbitrary definition of perfection. I am the joy of a mother’s bouquet from her young child who recognizes color as beauty and wants to gift it to the one he loves. I gladly shrink and pass away to allow the hope of future generations to be borne aloft on the wind.