Thistles, by Ted Hughes

Had to share this one of course…because Thistles!

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Thistles

Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men

Thistles spike the summer air

Or crackle open under a blue-black pressure

Every one a revengeful burst

Of resurrection, a grasped fistful

Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.

They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.

Every one manages a plume of blood.

Then they grow grey like men.

Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear,

Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.

– Ted Hughes

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4 thoughts on “Thistles, by Ted Hughes

  1. Your photo of the thistle is just gorgeous. The saddest line of that poem . . . “Their sons appear,/ stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.” History, sometimes you’d like to think we would learn something from it.

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