Queen of the Turf
There it was gazing up – radiant –
radiating kaleidoscope silver green;
sharp with life, ready and expectant.
Spreading its claim, pressing out the grass,
was a thistle born from last year's seed unseen.
From where had it blown here to outclass
the perennials of the turf? Its time
now come to arise from the meadow supreme,
preparing to host bug life full time.
Come July it will fuzz with purple
flowers as a crown for a victorious queen,
armed with many a prickled sepal.
Visited by suppliant insects
who set and array her seeds; a frothy scene
for finches' feast. Passing air extracts,
disperses the progeny abroad
to wherever to be ready, once more unseen
between the blades never overawed;
a tribute to the Creator Lord.
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