I had a notion. And then the stunning dandelions danced round and round as they sang songs of worlds yet to be discovered. They sang to the sun, so high above. It was yellow and they were yellow, but it was of a much more majestic hue and, therefore, was worshipped as a god by the people. The same people decapitated the dandelions.
The strongest returned and aged gray to bring the same people luck. Their dancing slowed and their singing turned into a requiem that they sung to the moon, who now shared their complexion.
Then the winter came and beat the dandelions with its genocidal will. Only the silent stars mourned the loss of the music that they loved despite misconstruing the lyrics. They insist upon complexity in everything, even the quietest song of the tiniest flower.
I had a notion. All the people were stars and they were silent and cold. They looked down and felt nothing for the dying because they had never really listened. Why would a star listen to a weed?
The Proud Dandelion 