

dimpled fingers nimbly snap stem after stem, in order to gather great pompons of dusty yellow blooms, and clear lawns, verges and boulevards of their gold.
my first bouquet of these flowers arrived this year, tangled in the sturdy hands of my almost-three-year-old. the scent is almost misty, the lemony glow darkening as the flowers continue to mature in their jam-jar vase, to produce the fluffy heads needed for success this coming spring.
thank you, dear dandelion, for the tireless production of the sweetest of children's gifts, and for sprinkling the gardens with irresistible booty.
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