by Victoria Helfrick
In the yellow sea of housecats,
She is an excellent thing of her kind; a ferocious beauty.
A dandy; her golden mane a beacon in the light.
Sometimes thought a weed, out of place because weeds have no place.
In the sunlit wilderness, past the thicket of oak, pine, cedar, and spruce,
She is the dandelion that sways in the soft whispers of the mountain.