Purple Thistle Poem by Paul Reed

We walk under Summer’s last fiery blaze
Trail defeated legs through the shabby days,
But between ears of corn and sheafy frond
Your purple crown has been proudly donned;

Underpinned and guarded by spine and prickle
To ward off careless suitors fickle,
A shimmering globe, a violet star
To tempt the thrumming bee from afar;

What further witness need we bear
To display the honour of the narrowing year?
A final fling, a majestic cap
Forged from the fruits of your milky sap;

Not deserving of shallow praise, or hearts to bleed
Dismissed by many as mere weed,
Whilst my glad gaze stops and rests in awe
At the beauteous sight that is before,

Other jaundiced eye could never scan the field
And see the treasures that each may yield,
Blowing time on the season’s sad whistle
The glorious, unheralded purple thistle.