Hi there! Please enjoy this poem that I’ve written this evening.
There are thistles beside the path,
Adorning the grove,
Crowning the grass with tenacious thorns, proudly
Aligned. Sharp pinpricks,
Warning travelers, do not
Enter here, this sacred place;
This space is reserved only for woodland kings;
Wistful green grass gazes back longingly past the barrier of
Proudly crowned knights
In their armour of needles and thumbtacks
And pins, waiting,
Yearning for the height of trees of the stateliness
Of the thistles,
Swaying in the breeze.