Thistle Days

Thistle days,
the vapor dance,
headless chicken shuffle.

Sweating brow,
fruitless toil,
lanterns with no oil.

Zombie prance,
the futile rig,
sorrow upon grief.

Boats with oars,
sextant broken,
stranded on a reef.

It’s “Get up, Jack.
Now, John, sit down.”
It’s beauty and the clown.

Dreaming as a herd,
worshipping the turf,
stamping on the ground.

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1 Comment

Filed under Thistle Days

One response to “Thistle Days

  1. maelinat

    Delicious.
    Thank you.

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