A Buttercup

A little yellow buttercup
Stood laughing in the sun;
The grass all green around it,
The summer just begun;
Its saucy little head abrim
With happiness and fun.

Near by—grown old, and gone to seed—
A dandelion grew;
To right and left with every breeze
His snowy tresses flew.
He shook his hoary head, and said:
“I've some advice for you.

“Don't think because you're yellow now
That golden days will last;
I was as gay as you are once,
But now my youth is past.
This day will be my last to bloom;
The hours are going fast.

“Perhaps your fun may last a week,
But then you'll have to die.”
The dandelion ceased to speak—
A breeze that capered by
Snatched all the white hairs from his head
And wafted them on high.

His yellow neighbour first looked sad,
Then, cheering up, he said:
“If one's to live in fear of death,
One might as well be dead.”
The little buttercup laughed on,
And waved his golden head.
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