For Misti:

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For Misti:

This is something I wrote when my son was two. I have fantasies of turning it into a children’s book complete with watercolors. Enjoy.

And it was she, the newly blossomed Dandelion who asked the forbidden question of the Moon, “Why?”

Why must I grow here? Am I only to become a weed, like the others? Does not the dew glisten on my leaves as brilliantly as those of the Rose?

And the Moon sighed.

My child, you are what you are. Where you have fallen from your mother’s womb is where you are needed. Let it be.

And then she, the Dandelion, unsatisfied by this pressed on.

But don’t my leaves dance as well as the Elm’s in the cool breeze? Isn’t my flower as bright as the canary perched above me?

And the Moon sighed.

My child, you are what you are. Everything has it’s place, none more important than the rest. Let it be.

I am only what I am? To bloom and someday be blown away by the wind?

And the Moon sighed.

My child, what you are is beautiful, unlike any of the others. Your seeds shall carry the wishes of innocence; that is why you must let it be.

And it was she, the Dandelion, who finally understood and smiled at the Moon.

© Jani Belcoe 1999

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