The Sad Thistle

Once a to a thistle came a bee
which upon his stem alighted
to consort with blossoms sweet;
the thistle was delighted.

Said the thistle to the bee,
You fear not my greeny thorn,
It is plain that we could love
better than all others born.

I see you have a thorn yourself,
A maiden so protected
Could nestle in my filmy down
By prickles unaffected.

The bee she drank his nectar fine
Buzzing her wings in gentle song
Dancing her dance upon his leaves
Kissing blossoms the day long.

Swooning in the highland wind
The thistle felt his joy ignited
But as his petals slowly drained,
His love, alas, was unrequited.

With golden pollen now bedecked
the merry bee flew to her hive.
The thistle wept a milky tear
bereft of love and now deprived.

Young men and maids hear this tale
Love not those who do briefly tarry
Be not the longing thistle here
who too quick loves and is not wary.

Like flighty bee you should eschew
Who samples each and every flower
Armed with stinger near and sharp
to first seduce and then devour.

But in all loves be tempered true
For love will find you where you are.
Think of the thistle and the bee
E’re you set your heart too far.


A poem for no other reason than that it seemed that two common, prickly things which were not afraid of each other might fall in love, and that it might work beautifully. That was how this started in my head, but the poem decided that it would be, alas, a cautionary tale instead…