Ted Hughes' words on the subject of thistles are far more eloquent than mine could ever hope to be.
I was rather pleased with this picture, however.
Thistles
Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.
Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasped fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up
From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.
Then they grow grey like men.
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.
Ted Hughes
2 musings:
Beautiful poem and picture. I love the colour of thistles.
Have a magical weekend and a great Lughnasa.
I love thistle! We went on a nature walk and the wood was filled with it. I managed to take a few wonderful photos. :)
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