I realized that I’m in a field With different flowers everywhere I thought I was your favorite But my roots remain in the ground. And not in your hands Like, who would really choose me? The longer I’m in the ground, the more roots grow The more I grow comfortable, the less likely I’ll leave. I want to be a rose given on a date Or a dandelion crown on someone’s head So I can see the world But there are thousands like me. So, why would you ever choose me? I will grow until my seeds blow off in the wind Onto a different field To not be chosen again.
