Then in the end there were thistles
bursting purple and prickly
on either side of the moss brick walk.
I was prepared for the end
but the end never came.
An endless row of thistles
as far as the eye could see.
Just purple, prickly beauty
beside the moss brick walk.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
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Inspired by a comment from my Wendy-muse.
ReplyDeleteIn the beginning God created the thistle! Enjoyed this poem about Scotland's national flower.
ReplyDeleteMaybe the end was another beginning?
ReplyDeleteMarked by the place where the thistles lay claim
Once more, to make that brick walk wild
Once more...?
Inspiring poem.
Cheers,
Joy...
http://scribblefest.com/author/arnab-majumdar/
@Gordon: Cheers. And here I was thinking it was the purple heather. The first time I saw the Grampians, I wept.
ReplyDelete@Arnab: Who can say? Thanks for the read.
beautiful!
ReplyDeletenice to see you again!
this one reminds me of my garden, in a nice and dreadful way....
I love the notion of endless thistles, as long as they're heavy on the beauty and light on the prickles.
ReplyDeleteGerry,
ReplyDeleteMy Sunday evening had been enhanced, for finding your poetic words. Life balance!
A feeling of Scottish connection, rather like my own roots!
Good to see you here again Gerry,
Best wishes, Eileen
@Harlequin: Long time off. Wandering. To what end? Endless. Ha!
ReplyDelete@Tess: Indeed.
@Eileen: If it's not Scottish, it's crap!
I LOVE thistles. There are so many kinds, too!
ReplyDeletewell-pricked
ReplyDeleteyour stinging
singing thistle!
@Old 333: Glad this connected with you.
ReplyDelete@vazambam: Ha!
Just purple. Yes.
ReplyDeleteGood to read your words again.
@Megs: Thx hon. I spend a LOT more time thinking about writing than I spend writing these days. I wound up boring myself mostly. Ha!
ReplyDelete