Thistle

When I ran to you
Expecting open arms and warm tea
I got sour rind and sop
When I ambled toward you
Bridging bramble toward the sea
I stuck only in the stubble

The thistle by the barn
Rallies its barbs like swords
From arid land not wicked, but dry

When I wanted lift, I got stone
When I wanted rest, I got din
When I wanted cheer, I got cap
When I wanted shade, I got cast
When I wanted drink, I got dust
When I wanted warmth, I got soot
When I wanted food, I got swill
When I wanted wool, I got thorns