Tuesday, 28 October 2014


Amidst his wander he bumps into Thorn in the garden.  Thorn doesnt warn. He was born to scorn.  "Ouch Ouch Ouch am I in a bout."   Thorn all broke falls to his knees.  He Pleads & Pleads to not wake his queen - Rose.   Rose grows to glow the meadow.
We called the child Thorn
A rose by another name
The cross he would have to bear
His jagged frame
a weapon
his enemies no equal
This crown of thorns
 would make him Strong
 his name would pierce the flesh
and the heart
of his oppressors
He will prick their conscience
Draw blood
And be thankful
for his Anglo Saxon forebears
Read it in the Runes
they speak the truth
Written for Sunday Scribblings 2  #Prompt 43 Thorn