Grasp the Thistle

I guess we’re growing old
like thistles in the drought-
parched park where we all die
slow in summer;
Our seeds have blown away
as shadows slowly fall
to cover up the cracks
of crippled lovers.

We leave nothing more than dust
the carvings of a stone
that michaelang’lo smoothed
with sweat and a chisel;
For fate is just the same for
each and everyone so
face up to the Truth
and grasp your thistle.

It’s plain enough to tell
It’s not hidden in a puzzle
Life’s enigmatic Call –
Grasp the Thistle.