Weed
She’s a lovely little daisy, 

With a broken stem,

Waiting for a rich man to pluck her.

Take her home to his vase.
Me, I grow wherever I land,

Lawns, gardens, playgrounds, and between rocks.

My dandelion roots are deep, 

And I can be hard to get rid of once I have settled in.

I bloom easily and early,

And require no care.

And while some call me a weed,

The bees flock to me,

And call me food.