The Thistle

Thistle, hearty flower,

Resilient beyond end,

You seem to be destroyed at times

But still come back again

Your armor is protective,

A painful prick you’ll give

Because that is what you have learned

You must still do to live

Your tall, strong, slender stems and stalks

One may cut down quite low

But rooted deep within rich soil

You never cease to grow

A thousand times life knocks you down

A thousand times returning

Each time stronger than the last

The fire within you burning

Beyond the tough and prickly mail

That keeps you safe from harm

Lies a lovely, soft, sweet bloom

With never ending charm

It takes years to coax you out

And see you trust the sun

Despite the turmoil life’s sent your way

Despite all that’s been done

You somehow find a way to bloom

In ways that all can view

But who can find a way to reach

Across the prickled dew?

Past protective armaments

To touch your tender flower

It takes a certain highland soul

Armed with a gentle power.

Thistle, tender blossom soft

Your heart is opening now

To only one who’s brave enough

And who you will allow.

The thistle is the national flower of Scotland.

But it’s a weed…

Yes, but it’s a weed that reportedly saved my kilt wearing ancestors from invading Viking hoards at some point and it’s a pretty weed.

So why write about a pretty weed?

Because I find it botanically fascinating, and I like the metaphor.

Don’t judge me.

5 thoughts on “The Thistle

  1. This is “stuck” in my brain. It’s fitting. I will grow up strong again and bloom. They do have a bloom pretty enough that stops people from cutting it down. I have decided to smile and live. So glad I started reading again. Thank you. I wish I could do as much for you. Your living Aunt, Joan

    Liked by 1 person

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