My Dandelion

When I was a boy of about seven, before I learned such things were not possible - I had a conversation with a dandelion. It was on the edge of our property - the little swatch of land neither my father nor the farmer cared to fertilize. I was running on a warm summer day, as I always liked to do, and tumbling. Then I lay in the grass right there on the edge of the great sod field. I looked to my left and there was a dandelion, and I smiled as dandelions would always make me do. I noticed, though, that this one was very sad - its face was down and it was pouting a bit. 'What's the matter?', I asked. 'Oh, nothing,' said the dandelion, 'It's just that I see those roses over there, in your mother's garden and I am so sad I wish I was one of those.' And then I started to cry a bit - a little tear rolled down my cheek.
'Now why are you so sad?', asked the dandelion.
'Why, you're the most beautiful flower I know.' I whispered, 'And if you're sad, that makes me sad.'
'What!!, How can that be!!' exclaimed the dandelion.
'Why wouldn't it?' I asked shocked. 'Your face is like the sun - when I see you shine it brings a smile to my face. There are so many of you as well - and no one minds when I run through the dandelions, and roll in the sweet high grass and then rest a while and smell your sweet fragrance. When you are cut down by the mower, I wait and watch, and you never keep me waiting too long. My heart soars when I see that beautiful field of yellow again!  And when you are tired of being yellow, you turn to beautiful wisps of clouds and float and fly away.  I love you little dandelion.'
My dandelion smiled, and lifted her head and said, 'I never thought of it that way. I'll never want to be a rose again.'