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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #957170
An observation turned poem
I can't help but pity the dandelion
It is alive
It has an innocent beauty
It even smells nice
And yet, it is shunned
It is a weed
As such, it is sought after and killed
Despite all of the good things
No one sees them
Only the child, as innocent as the flower
Only the child sees the beauty
And then the child grows up
I can't help but identify with the dandelion
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