Mourning Thistle

Thistle.

Stood in our mourning bouquet;

Appearing secondary to the blooming white rose

Entertaining the eye, like she did.

But now I focus on you

Your spines are strong, under my skin.

Thistle.

Jagged, distant, natural.

That's what reminds me of you;

You stand in perfect combination

With the unabashed white rose,

Whose petals fell prematurely.

Thistle.

You stood strong, you stood sturdy

Valiantly providing plumage to the display.

But you began to wilt and wither;

Reunited with the rose

As a solitary thistle looks so lost alone.