The Nectar of Life

A haiku about purpose and determination

We give you nothing and in return you give us the nectar of life.

We are picking raspberries and they are everywhere. Thistles. Once upon a time, my gran-mama gathered them by the armful, dandelions too, to make her lovely balms.

Prickly beasts, poking feet and hands when you least expect it and why on earth are they so hard to get rid of, but there is a reason and thistle knows, even if we do not.

Honeybees. For if the bees were to disappear, we would too, in a mere 4 years, science says. So thistle grows spikes so it will not be eaten and can live on to feed the bees.

Late bloomers, finally flowering in the last half of their life, after they have borne a bitter winter or three and then bursting into bloom and somehow, it gives me hope.

Oh, the defiance. Chop it down, dig it up yet a quarter-inch of root will regrow, for thistle has a job to do and bees to feed and I can only hope to ever have such determination.

If I were a flower, I would not wish to be a coddled rose that may or may not bloom, nor some delicate blossom that cannot withstand summer wind or winter cold.

Dressed in prickles and defiance, it seeks no approval for a clear purpose is more than enough. If I was a flower I think I should want to be a thistle blossom.

You ask for nothing but air and sunshine, and look how you thrive and bloom.

Do not blame the thistle that you see no beauty. — Jonathan Lockwood Huie