Poem 12: Thistledown

© Bruce Goodman 1 August 2015

12poemthistle

Thistledown, gentle pest,
floating, elusive.
Its flight is proof enough of air!

Master of deception,
how delicately it disguises
its prickly mother.

Tiptoed around in too much rain
and planted.
Let’s hope the bloody thing drowns.

14 thoughts on “Poem 12: Thistledown

I delight in having my dull life coloured by your intelligent perceptions, your wit, and your vivacity.

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