The Dandelion

Ah, the Rose, you are but the Trash Panda of flora's land,

A marauder in red, a bandit with thorns in hand.

You offer refuge to the scoundrel, in your petals she'll nest,

After an evening spent under the CEO's desk, no less.

Oh, how you've been Hallmarked, boxed and sold,

A symbol of Valentine trashery, a lie that's old.

Brutalised by a love that's anything but pure,

A societal farce that we're all supposed to endure.

You're as artificial as Pamela's assets, or the Gold Coast's gleam,

A plastic effigy of love, or so it would seem.

You signify society's fakery in matters of the heart,

A falsehood in full bloom, a deceptive work of art.

So if you claim to love me, heed this verse,

Know that of all the flowers, the Rose is the worst.

Give me, instead, a Dandelion plucked from the field