Interloper

Its golden petals
Sing a song to the world
In exquisite tints

Soundlessly singing
In dulcet tones of beauty
Its delicate call

Amidst its fellows
It forms a yellow blanket
Against the green grass

Still, it is hated
Threatened by untimely death
Like a trespasser

The gardener strikes
With relentless animus
Aimed at destruction

Why? Is the question
Why is this beauty destroyed?
What good will be served?

The dandelion
Is a grass interloper
Its color is wrong

Alas, it is true
Even beauty must be gone
If it does not fit