Nobody likes dandelions apart from the Rabbit, and even then it is because he likes to nibble on their leaves.
For everyone who lived in the Forest of Flowers was named after a flower, and they were liked according to whatever they were named after. If they were a flower like the Rose, then they would be popular and respected. But if they were a weed, then they were shunned and outcast. Such was the fate of poor Alysia Dandelion.
St Valentines Day was only a week away, and everyone of age was frantic in finding their soul mate for that special day. There was singing and dancing, and exchanging of gifts and poetry. Alysia sang and her sweet voice echoed through the warm forest air. She wrote beautiful poetry that made the songbirds look on in envy. But alas, nobody wanted her.
“Would you be my valentine,” she asked Gregory Lilac.
“No, you little parasite,” he replied. “I already have my own – Penelope Primrose.”
“What about you?” she asked Jack Bluebell. “Will you be mine?”
“No, you useless weed,” he scoffed. “I’ve got my eyes on Lettie Lavendar.”
And so one by one, all the girls and boys met their match. Miss Daisy went with Master Tulip, Lily with Narcissus, Jasmine with Daffodil, and so on.
But still all alone was poor Alysia Dandelion. She wiped away the tears with her long golden hair.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said to herself. “Common garden weeds like me are not meant to be loved. They’re meant to be pulled up and burnt, because they’re nothing but a nuisance.”
But then, there was silence in the forest glade. For the last of the boys had arrived – the Poppy Fellow. He was dark, elegant, and very handsome and even though they already had valentines, many girls swooned as his shadow passed over them.
“Get out of the way, Dandelion,” hissed Penelope. “You’re not pretty enough to be in his presence.” And so Alysia was pushed to the back of the crowd.
Being a nimble girl, she climbed up a sycamore to see the Poppy Fellow. And all at once, she fell completely in love with him. The way he walked, the way he pulled up his little black coat and looked at nobody. Not to mention that gorgeous crimson poppy that he wore on his coat. He commanded such awe, such respect. But oh, his face, it looked so sad and lonely! Surely he’d want nothing more than someone to love him whenever he felt upset?
The Poppy Fellow, however, was not bothered. He didn’t care for the Valentines Day. It was all mushy and sugary sweet, and he knew full well that the real world wasn’t like that at all. He only came to the Forest to gather spider webs for his home. Everyone watched as he plucked a few from a hedge, and then walked away without as much as a hello or a goodbye.
The music started playing again, and everyone began singing and talking. However, Alysia joined in with none of it. She quietly leapt from the tree and slipped away.

The Poppy Fellow lived in an odd crooked house on a hill outside the Forest. From a distance, Alysia watched him with large, loving eyes. In her petite hands was a small necklace made from a spider web. Its jewels were little dewdrops that glittered like grains of sugar. Surely he would love it?
She scampered up to his door, rapped on it, dropped the necklace on the step, and darted back into the Forest as quick as a dragonfly.
“Who’s there?” Poppy Fellow opened his door, only to see no-one.
“It’s those stupid sparrows again,” he grumbled. “They’re always playing practical jokes on me. Hey, what’s this?”
He picked up the necklace.
Is this for me? he thought. Why would I want this? I don’t like necklaces.
He paused for a moment.
But I do like spider webs, so I’ll keep it. But who could have given it to me?
He looked around.
“Thank you, whoever you are!” he shouted.
Alysia heard him, and her heart gave a flutter of joy. Now what should would she give him tomorrow?

The next morning, Poppy Fellow found a box of coloured sweeties on his doorstep.
“Who are you?” he called out. “Why are you giving me presents? I don’t deserve them. Do you know what I represent?”
No answer.
“I represent blood.” Even the sound of his own voice made him shudder. “I represent bloodshed, and death, and sadness. I am the Poppy, the emblem of war. Go for the Bluebell, or someone else. They’re much more joyful than I am.”
But Alysia cared not for it. Instead, she was even more determined. Everyone deserved someone, even if they were not joyful or colourful.

The day after that, he found a little heart shaped pillow on his doorstep.
Ugh, he thought. I don’t like hearts at all. This is getting out of hand.
“Who are you?” he called out again. “Please, show yourself.”
There was a rustle in the bushes.
“Come on out, I demand you!”
Out appeared a delicate, graceful young girl with golden hair and a silver dress.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Alysia,” she murmured softly. “Alysia Dandelion.”
Now it just so happened that Poppy Fellow did not know what a dandelion was. But with one look at her, he too fell completely in love.
“Why come in,” he said. “No-one’s ever been this generous to me before.”

The next few days were the best of Alysia’s young life. She and Poppy Fellow did everything together. They gathered spider webs, caught beetles, and collected caterpillars (but let them all go afterwards). These were all the things he liked doing.
They also picked flowers, told stories and rowed on the lake on a lily pad. These were all the things she liked doing. However, at first Poppy Fellow put his foot down on the rowing.
"That looks a tad risky," he said. "One of us could fall in and drown."
"Don't worry," Alysia replied. "I'm an expert at rowing on lily pads. You'll be fine, trust me."
It took a little more persuasion, but very soon their laughter could be heard echoing all over the lake.
Alysia didn’t feel so bad anymore. Who cared if she was a common garden weed? Her new love obviously didn’t. She could laugh and be happy without the fear of being teased or scorned.
Poppy Fellow also felt better. He might represent war and bloodshed, but Alysia’s beauty was like a lantern in the night, and suddenly life didn’t seem so bleak anymore. He even smiled now, which was more than anything he had ever done before.
One night, just before Valentine’s Day, they both lay under the stars and gazed up at the moon.
“Look,” Alysia said. “If you look closer, you can see the shape of a hare on the moon. My grandmother once told me that the Hare was trying to outrun the nasty Fox, and he ran so fast that he went all the way up to the moon, where he would be safe.”
“My dear.” Poppy Fellow was hardly listening. “I’ve been thinking. Everyone else dances next to the lake on Valentine’s night, all paired up with their valentine. I was thinking, do you…”
“Want to be my valentine?” Alysia finished it for him.
“Yes, that’s exactly it.”
The two looked into each others eyes, and that did all the talking for them.

The next night was unusually warm for February. Fireflies lingered in the darkness like candles, and they lit up the lake and the new spring grasses. There was music in the air, and children laughed and danced while couples waited impatiently for the festivities to begin.
Poppy Fellow arrived with a small package, his mere presence causing many girls to wistfully fiddle with their locks.
“What’s in the parcel?”
“Is it jewellery?”
“Is it sweets?”
“Who is it for?”
“It’s a surprise for my valentine,” he replied. “You’ll soon see who she is.”
The music really began to play, and every couple began to dance. There were fast songs and slow songs, funny songs and sad songs. Some songs the children joined in with, while others were left strictly to the couples. Meanwhile, slices of cake and drinks were passed around the passionate dancers.
But still Alysia did not come. Poor Poppy Fellow stood at the edge of the lake, refusing to join in.
“Hey, look who’s decided to join us!” Penelope Primrose called out. “It’s Miss Dandelion. Why on earth did she bother to show up?”
The crowd parted to reveal an exhausted Alysia. Her dress was dirty and covered in leaves. Poppy Fellow ran over and embraced her.
“My love, what took you so long?”
“The Fox,” she gasped. “He was on the prowl. He nearly caught me. But I am alright, really.”
There was a stunned silence. And then:
“Ugh!” Penelope called out. “She’s your valentine? She’s an ugly weed!”
The entire crowd burst out laughing, and Poppy Fellow’s pale face went bright red. A weed? All this time, he’d loved a homely, parasitic weed?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he snapped. “You tricked me, didn’t you? A dishonest weed like you fooling a foolish flower like me!” He threw his package on the ground and dashed away into the woods.
Now the crowd, led by Penelope, began to chant:

Garden weed, garden weed,
Nothing good but rabbit feed!

But Alysia did not hear their torments. She did not feel pain at being rejected. She did not feel angry, or sad. All she felt was fear.
Cold hard fear.
Poppy Fellow would never last long if the Fox was about.

The black, skeletal limbs of the trees grabbed out at the sky as Poppy Fellow trudged down the path, which wound beside the rushing river. He kicked at last autumn’s dead leaves and scowled.
What a fool I’ve been, he thought. I’m the laughing stock of the Forest now. Why did I ever trust her? Weeds are nothing. They’re not beautiful like flowers. They’re not worth it. I’ll never talk to another girl again, for as long as I live.
Suddenly, he heard a noise that covered his heart with icy dread. It was a deep, rumbling growl.
There was flash of orange fur, and a large furry creature stood before him, with pointed ears and two cruel, fiery eyes.
It was the Fox.
“Hey little morsel, where do you think you’re going at this time of night?” He opened his slavering jaws, which bristled with sharp white teeth.
“Out of the way, you slimy vermin,” said Poppy Fellow. “Don’t you have some helpless animal to hunt down?”
“Oh yes,” the Fox grinned. “I’m hunting him right now.”
Poppy Fellow tried to walk past, but Fox just leapt in his way.
“Where you going? This way? That way?” The animal skipped from side to side. “Oh boy, you are a persistent little thing, aren’t you? I always love it when they’re feisty. Much more fun than just killing them outright.”
He cackled and snarled with pleasure.
“You’d better run now, or else that poppy on your coat will become even redder.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Poppy Fellow retorted. “Now get out of my way.”
“Aw, the poor little lad thinks he’s all big and tough.” The Fox barked with laughter. He then lunged at his prey.
Poppy Fellow yelped and scuttled down the path as fast as he could. The Fox sprinted after him, his tongue lolling with pleasure.
“Where ya gonna go, huh?” he panted. “You can run for as long as you like, but I will still you catch you. You can hide where you like, but I’ll still find you. Why don’t you just give it all up now?”
But Poppy Fellow ignored it all. He just kept running. He swerved off the path and down towards the river. There were various holes around here, made by water voles. His only chance was to hide in one of them.
Those terrible jaws went SNAP! He went tumbling down a rocky slope, and landed on a little rock overhanging the river. The sound of rushing waters rumbled like thunder in his ears. He tried to get up, but a sharp stab of pain shot up his leg.
“Oh dear, it looks like you’re in for it, I’m afraid.” The Fox slipped gracefully over the rocks. “Sorry about your leg. It’s real pity, because I love a good chase. But still, it’s the kill at the end which really matters.”
He bared his teeth, ready to tear the life out of the hapless boy.
“Close your eyes Pretty Boy. This is going to hurt. I mean really, this is going to be…OUCH!”
A small, sharp stone smacked the back of his head. He wheeled around and saw
Alysia with a handful of stones.
“Leave him alone.”
“Hey, another little morsel,” the Fox sneered. “You will make a scrumptious dessert, once I finish him off.”
Alysia threw another stone, and this time the creature veered on her.
“Bad mistake Missy.” He pounced, seized her in his jaws, and they both hurtled over the edge and plunged into the deep waters.
“Alysia!” Ignoring the pain in his leg, Poppy Fellow struggled to the edge. But all he could see was the swirling, infinite mass of foam that had swallowed them both up.
“Ugh” I hate water!” The Fox pulled himself out at the other side. “Look what you’ve done to my lovely bushy tail! It’s all damp and floppy like a mop. Grrr, Mum won’t be pleased at all.” He trotted away into the woods, cursing quietly to himself.
But there was still no sign of Alysia.
Poppy Fellow limped down to the shore.
“Alysia! Where are you?!”
He then saw her limp, fragile body lying battered among the pebbles. He staggered to his knees and clutched it his stick-like arms.
There was no lamenting.
No crying or begging for mercy.
In fact, not a single tear rolled down his pale cheek. Instead, he just sat there.
He sat there and wondered why, of all things, a selfless and beautiful girl like her should have to die for a self-centred, prejudiced fool like him. And no-one would ever believe that a humble garden weed would risk its life for a fair flower. The injustice of it all!
And she would never get to see that lovely gift he had spent hours making for her.
“Let go of me Fox. I am not your dinner.” Hark! She lives!
“My dear, I am not a fox,” Poppy Fellow said gently. “Although I might as well be, seeing the way I treated you.” He paused. “Darling, forgive me. Please forgive me.”
Alysia struggled to her feet and coughed up a bellyful of water. She then cleared her throat.
“What was in that package?” she asked. “Was it for me?”
“Well, we’d better hurry back and find out then, shouldn’t we.” He leapt up, and then crashed back down to his knees, wincing in pain. “Okay, perhaps not yet,” he chuckled through his teeth. “Maybe when my leg feels a bit better.”
For the rest of the night, they sat by the river as it shimmered under the full moon. The two simply looked into each others eyes, and that did all the talking for them.

Unlike all the other couples, Alysia Dandelion and Poppy Fellow were still together when all the Valentines Day decorations were taken down. They were still together when Spring finally brought warmth and life back to the forest. In fact, even today they are still together, and one can sometimes see them laughing in the meadows on sitting in the moonlight. Of course, Poppy Fellow would always wear his little black coat with the poppy, but Alysia now wore something much more radiant. It was a little silver dress, made from spider webs and dew drops that, funnily enough, resembled tears.