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
