I am an old maple tree
rooted deep into the ground but still
unstable and tripping over 
tiny blades of grass.

And the flowers around me smile at the sun,
giggling at the departing winter.
Children come and pick them from the ground.
Make them into dandilion jewelry
that they wear atop their pretty, little heads
and on their delicate, young wrists.

But I am still here, stuck
in the dirt.