The Thistle
The thistle stands in the golden glade, With a brave heart, proud, erect, Against the dawn, its colors laid, In the sun’s warm light, it’s perfect.
Each leaf a whisper of fierce intent, With a bloom that rivals the pride of kings, In the meadow where the wild winds scent, The freedom that the daybreak brings.
It holds the courage of a wild heart, A beacon ‘gainst the common scheme, In every barbed edge, a state apart, It blooms, the essence of a dream.
- Mary Webb