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POETRY

“Thistledown,” read by Charles Eggerth.

Thistledown

We are thistledown before the wind,
scattered to hills and prairies
where the sun and rain and snow make of us what they will,
where the winter wind steals our breath
and runs away laughing.

We are children of the milkweed pod
and we fly like vagabonds, heedless,
till we fall and sprout and die
a thousand miles from home,
till we sigh our last among strangers and thieves.

We are yellow flowers of the field,
strewn beneath the mighty arc of heaven;
our lives a moment in the summer sun,
our breath a vapor penned against the sky.

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Charles Eggerth: I have lived in many places in my life. But one day, in eastern Wyoming, two weeks out of high school, stands out — June 10, 1970, the day the Holy Spirit led me to Jesus. And the Holy Spirit has been leading me ever since. Thank you, Jesus!

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Image: David Baird / Thistledown, Stronach Hill, via Wikimedia Commons. Modified by Veronica McDonald.