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If I had my choice of being any golden flower, it would be tempting for me to choose to be a daffodil.

The sunshiny blooms beckon spring, the awakening time each year, and flaunt their splendor. I try to listen and decide whether their trumpetlike centers play a regal tune for those who pay them compliments, but I never hear them sound. So, I imagine I must offer them more praise or dispel the idea of mine as a fanciful notion.

My other thought that is perhaps just as absurd is the belief that it might be equally as fulfilling to be a dandelion as to be a daffodil.

I know the prestige would be less if I settled for being a flower that is generally regarded the status of a weed.

Still, I have to marvel at the dandelion's heartiness.

They multiply and sprout sassily after their cotton seeds have drifted to dreamy destinations.

Some generally have the good fortune of falling in the paths of children who spot them and pick them like they are true beauties.

In exuberant and joyful celebration, the dandy flowers are woven into wreaths and become crowning glories that encircle the tots' heads.

It is a wondrous place to settle and a golden opportunity I would never miss experiencing.