They pierce a clear blue sky
And tear it to tatters.
Blind or with open eyes,
If I know what matters,
I can thrust my fingers
In and leave blood and flesh.
Yet starlings can linger,
Safe in its lethal mesh.
The question is why thorns?
They can protect a rose.
The bull charges its horns.
But why such a tree grows
Long and fearsome spindles
Pierces us with symbols.
