For thistle I am

I can’t just prink my thorns,
Wild flower I was born.
Never in silverware,
Memoirs of salty worth,
I can cover all I want to be.
Proper.

I’ll be chasing my best dreams.
You … You hate thistle and I am.
Dusted and even mud spattered.
Forget to try conjuring a rose out of my self.
Go gardening…
Somewhere else.