Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Saturday, June 19, 2004

A Thistle For Nothing

They don't call it
a thistle for nothing,
purple spikes that are not
grown hydroponically, with
care and tending, but wild
along the roadside with the
freedom to spring up just
wherever they want.

Who in the world would not
pray for an option like that?

Most of them tiny, in scattered
bunches, but along the journey
there's always the few odd ones,
proud, tall and thriving in the
soil and sun, having soaked up
what delicious rain fallen
the night before
so that in the morning
they have slept well enough
to survive another day
of fumes and exhaust.

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