Dandelions in the Daffodils

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There is grass
thick with clover
under the red blanket.
We spent a brisk, windy day
waterside on a different green
when you were a toddler
and still brotherless.

Picnic baskets on clear days.
Families determined as weeds
to grow in the sun.

Are we dandelions or daffodils?
Both angle their yellow for the light.
One, treasured,
deemed worthy of cultivation.
The other, a tenaciousness enemy,
deeply rooted plague,
targeted for extermination.

From the distance,
the distinction nearly impossible to determine.

Grass from clover?

To feed or poison?

Julie Ayers
NaPoWriMo Day 26

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