Vol. 3 No. 4 • December, 2009
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Poetry by David Pambianchi

 

Flower Girl Riddle

Beautiful purple,
Russian Thistle,
She handed to me knowing,
It would sting my fingers.

Prickly pain, sweet confusion,
Fills the mind with speculation,
To absorb in wonder,
Or mock in retaliation,

Gently,
Gently,

I placed the Purple Thistle,
Into my pocket.

 

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