Flogging a dead horse
Am I a misguided apostle?
To a solitary thistle,
But I can see beyond your thorny points.
Hardened by biting weather,
You dwarf surrounding heather,
But prickly barbs are too sharp to surmount.
Can see blue/purple petals,
But would need a skin of metal,
To approach close enough to inhale.
Watch the flower turn to pollen,
Indicating you can soften,
But your spiny darts ultimately prevail.
Tantalising glimpses of you tender,
Helpless, I’m left rendered,
Can’t get beyond your caref’ly crafted thorns.
Do you know you’re so appealing?
Or are you toying with my feelings?
Keep your armour plates – the like of me to warn.
2nd April 1999