Cactus

A cactus, me and full of spines, But deep in side are wet confines, And so they sprout away from me, Protecting from the enemy. Go question all and they will say, That they define my prickly way, But past the spines, you’ll find in part, I really have a softer heart. For animals will search to find, Beneath the skin and tucked behind, And if they find my moist inside, They’ll eat of me and till I have died. With all the places that I live, It’s not the spot heat will forgive. That when the dawn does quickly fade, My spines can give me little shade. So if you come across my path, Don’t judge of my defensive wrath, Please see me whole with my designs, And not my pointy, prickly spines.