A seed,

   So soft and new,

             Put forth onto soil to thrive,

A splash of green breaks the monotony of brown that surrounds,

A dandelion sprouts,

A spitting image of its ancestry,

But the struggles are far greater here,

This insignificant yellow flower is but a pest,

Nothing in comparison to the thorned elegance of the rose,

A weed.

 A warrior whose golden tendrils wave continuously,

A fighter of the problems within,

For even though the herbicides fall upon it,

                                                                        This one little weed

will rise.