Summertime was when the dandelions grew, 
And splashed the lawn of my Kansas home, 
With streaks of gold and yellow blossoms. 

My brother and I ran among the weeds. 
We were dressed in our Sunday church garb, 
And decorated in the dandelions and sunlight. 

Mother stood on the porch like a goddess, 
Looking down at us with her soft, elegant face. 
She smiled and her hair danced in the wind. 

Two different kinds of dandelion grew for us. 
My brother picked the fragile, silky spheres, 
While I gathered the perfect gold flowers. 

I laughed at the ugliness of the globes, 
That my brother took such care in caressing. 
He continued on and never said a word. 

Then came the time of proud presentation; 
I approached the porch with my colorful gift bouquet, 
And he followed shyly with his ugly weeds. 

My mother looked at both of the bundles, 
Mine in her left hand, my brother's in her right. 
She smiled as she looked at the two loving gifts. 

My bouquet made a nice centerpiece at dinner, 
But my mother danced about the garden, 
Blowing on ugly spheres, scattering seeds into the wind. 

As the fluffy white seeds flew about our heads, 
I learned to laugh and dance with my brother. 
I learned to enjoy the understanding he had. 

I learned also, of how looks can deceive. 
I understood that the gift itself was not important, 
What was important ... was how it was given.