Tales of the Tribe: Thistle and Stone

Thistle and Stone



Whistle to bone

bristles the cold;

it chisels old

goslings from gander.


This’ll bring home

the old rolling Stone,

and Thistles that roam

far in wander.


Vestigial in some

the fossiling glum,

to get up and run

and meander.


To wrestle with roam,

to nestle at home,

the Thistle and Stone

need to pander


the prickly pride

residing inside;

more often than not,

the dander.


But, Ah!  there you go,

as metaphors show,

how the mind 

can sometimes endower.


As metaphors go,

the Thistle or Stone

are more than merely

just matter:


They gather the most,

from one such as host,

and weasels

the goslings from gander.




©2013, Marvin Loyd Welborn

1 August 2013; revised 2 August 2013; 3 August 2013


Poem’s Score: 2.7

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