Thistles
Today I like even thistles
you say as we walk
down the hill in the sun
stopping once to sit, talk, look;
pink campion, stitchwort,
bluebells and may.
We dip into deep paths
between hedges where grass
is still wet and nettles
brush their spring sting.
I think of thistles which choke
the onion bed; how they scratch
skin as I pull and fling
them over the hazel fence;
how their flowers are flushed
and their down more delicate than pashm.
Page(s) 11
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- Paper, The
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- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- Staple
- Strange Faeces
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- Thumbscrew
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- Weyfarers
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- Yellow Crane, The