(an original poem, written this very day, by a normally prosaic novelist)
O yellow dandel’in, good faithful friend o’ mine,
Persistent, exuberant weed;
You have taken first place in biology's race,
Thanks to your billowy seed.
No preparation necessary. No need to fertilize or add nitrogen to the soil or lime or God knows what exotic combination of rare metals to make them bloom. They just bloom on their own. In spite of us. Imagine: an organism that does not seem to depend on our goodwill. Now, if that is not heroic, I don’t know what is.
Long live the dandelion! (not that they need my goodwill—they are like cats in that way, and therefore deserve respect.)