When I was little
three or four
I liked to blow the heads
off dandelions grown white
And watch their little parachutes
float gently down.
But when a puff of wind
Would catch them up
And swirl them high above
I'd run along to watch them fly
for they were free
so much like me.

David Freed

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dandelions-3/