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I am small, insignificant.
A blade of grass in a field of flowers.
I am whithered, dry.
I lower my eyes to the ground,
and watch the dandelions stand tall.
What have they got to lose?
They are noticed by all,
They are exclaimed at,
They are picked by loving hands,
"oh, how beautiful!" they say.
Doesn't anyone know that dandelions are a weed?