Acceptance

Call me not rose.

Although my heart cries to hear
Such a compliment,
Although ancient bards
Declared that flower noble
And deemed their lovely ladies
Worthy of that name,

Call me not rose.

Other women—beautiful women—
May be compared to the rose,
But I,
I am not one
Men would so honor.
I am more likely compared to
The lowly dandelion—

Who sees its worth?

Not a romantic, love-inspiring flower
Like the capricious rose,
The dandelion is a symbol
Of strength, resilience,
A will to strong to surrender.

Uproot a rose bush and see,
It is gone forever.
Petrarch, can you brag so
About your noble rose?

Your lady’s cheek may wear
The damasked red-and-white
Of that gentle bloom,
But the ever-bold glow of the dandelion flower
Needs no woman’s cheek
To survive, but in its own existence
Represents eternity—
A more appropriate symbol of ever-lasting love
Than the fragile rose,
Whose beauty does not linger.

No, call me not rose,
For though I envy
The beauty and romance of that flower,
To give me that name
Would be false flattery—
What love is built on that?
I would rather be remembered
For a spirit of strength and constancy,
One who wields a stubborn will to survive.
No, see not in this lady
The qualities of the fickle rose;
See in her the qualities
Of the noble—yes I said
Noble—
Golden dandelion.