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.