Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2017
Eddying across
The road, thistle seeds, blown by
The wind, seek a home.
Scotch thistles abound in harsh volcanic soils on the fringes of our city. Farmers hate them and grub them out. Too late now as they release their seeds in hot dry northerleywinds, like snow flurries.
George Raitt
Written by
George Raitt
259
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems