They should have called the thistle -- well, it is that we, we love each other. Our heads side by side have a purple flamebed over them. We are one, we love ourself. The cows do not eat us nor tread on us. It is a little like the lichen on the blackened stones, a foaming winecup with thorns on the handle. They say jackasses eat them. Yes, and reindeer eat lichen, lick them from the stones. And we would be eaten -- as England ate Scotland? No. It is the color they must eat if they would have us. That offers itself but that alone. The rest is for asses or -- forbidden. Purple! Striped bellied flies and the black papillios are the color-led evangels. Ah but they come for the honey only. And so -- a thistle. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE ENGINE BY NIGHT by ALEXANDER ANDERSON FOUR SONNETS: 3 by FRANK DAVIS ASHBURN ON THE DEATH OF MRS. MARTINEAU by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD PSALM 88 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE CITY SMOKE by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |