Plume Thistle On The Sunset Trail — Image by kenne
The trail winds upward
through oak and pine,
and there it stands—
the plume thistle,
guarded on all sides.
No one reaches for it.
No one gathers it
into a bouquet.
Yet the bees know better.
They arrive humming,
certain of the treasure
within the fortress.
I remember how often
the world mistakes protection
for hostility,
and caution
for indifference.
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