As he walked,
his hand touched
a beautiful flower
and bled.
He saw St. Barnaby’s thistle,
and wondered if
Barnabas had ever brushed
against his namesake,
And, if so,
was he
divinely protected
from the golden needles?
His hand began to itch and
he thought of Barnabas
who argued with his mentor
and was slowly forgotten.
In his obscurity,
did the saint ever ponder
yellow flowers as these
with crowns of thorns?
Bluster & Absurdity 