Oh thistle.
Thou art a solitary, singular, front-yardish fellow,
a sight for making eyes sore.
"Only fools would pick such fallow soils",
I can't help muttering
(a way of saying without speaking).
And all those prickles for protection
just so you can saunter the lawn
draped in shameless scarlet.
Still, I admit that no one else
wears raspberry beret so very well,
all haughty and rather huffy.
