Thistledown

 A nature poem from Frank Ashen (thank you Gillian!)


        THISTLEDOWN

Proud and erect the thistle stands,
purple headed, thrusting to the sun.
Defiant in its outward stance,
yet welcoming without second glance,
to butterflies and bees that hum.

As flowered head ages and petals fall
‘tis crowned again with puffy ball.
A feathery, silvered plume, soft as down,
usurps the purple coloured crown.

 Atop the plant which gave it life
this fragile daintiness sits exposed
to Nature’s whims and fancies,
responding to each breath or swell.

 Kissed by the summer breeze
the translucent orb changes in amoebic shape,
returning with subtle shiver as breeze abates
once more in heavenward expectation.

When Natures comes to take a deeper breath,
exhaling with quickening wind,
staunch stands the thistle, though bending in respect.
While thistledown is whisked toward the trees
on its unknown journey to procreation.

 Carried on the undulating wind
the thistledown’s journey lacking destination.
Till Nature pauses for breath once more,
or obstruction may bring an end to flight – and life.

However a gentle fall on fertile spot,
graceful as a parachute descending,
brings the veiled shape of its conjugal bed,
where new life is sparked ‘tween seed and soil.

God ordains the destiny of the nuptial flight,
completing full cycle from seed to seed.
Through growth, strength and colour
to the beauty and effervescence of thistledown.

         Frank L. Ashen

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