The Thistle King

Who likes to see August Goldfinches tearing at the thistle plants? I do!
Of course as colder weather moved in, in revision this one became more about preparing for Winter than a celebration of late summer. Oops, oh well...


The Thistle King

The warm August afternoons
  heat the spiky thistle globes, unbound,
  spritely, their spiders of down take flight,
As you, the Goldfinch called The Thistle King,
  sing out upon your rounds

Successively, you mill the ready seeds,
  granting that the wind may take those
  which you have no need now of,
They fly away, those gentle gleanings you deign spare the future
  which next Spring will you sprout, and brood, and nurture
  
Yet now, as in the way of all our summer guests,
  you too shall soon retire to the naked trees of Fall,
  whose sun warmed high gold crowns are your Balmoral,
From whence by acclamation you shall process the anthem
  that conducts us in our hallowed Autumn prayers,
That, for your having prior ginned all that snow white thistle down,
  we too may bless it to become the coat, blanket and bedding
    for our Winter dormant Garden Lares