Thistle

When I ran to you Expecting open arms and warm tea I got sour rind and sop When I ambled toward you Bridging bramble toward the sea I stuck only in the stubble The thistle by the barn Rallies its barbs like swords From arid land not wicked, but dry When I wanted lift, I got stone When I wanted rest, I got din When I wanted cheer, I got cap When I wanted shade, I got cast When I wanted drink, I got dust When I wanted warmth, I got soot When I wanted food, I got swill When I wanted wool, I got thorns