Crown of Thorns

They weren’t thorns exactly,

Photo by Productivity Garden on Unsplash

but close enough.

Thistles.

Blooming in a patch of weeds

at the end of our mill street.

So delicately feathery,

so perfectly formed,

so pretty.

When I plucked them

they clung to my fingers

as though they had been waiting there,

waiting for me.

And when I touched them

into my tightly braided hair,

they encircled my head neatly.

A perfect crown!

I ran home to show Mommy.

So proud.

So very proud!

 “Oh, Marion!” she cried

as she reached for the scissors.

MDB