Dandelion

The clouds part as beams of light shine down from heaven,
Onto the cracks in the ground,
The flowers shoot up through the chasm,
Though the roots cannot be found.

Though seen as weeds they are strong and survive,
Through the winds and rain they grow,
The people trample them down as they walk,
Not seeing the beauty below.

When pulled from their refuge they appear to be gone,
But below the ground they remain,
Soon to emerge anew through the cracks,
To look to the sun again.