A Thorn

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By Carolyn Black

A thorn from a plaited instrument of passion
A barb from Ziziphus spina-christi
Secreted in a weather vane in 1801
Now fallen from a burning spire
Inside a shell tougher
Than any egg

Survived the raging fire that
Roasted the rooster
It’s black twisted body
Wrought but not destroyed
Drenched by hoses and fire
A miracle

Two days later ash and tang of charred timber
Hang in the air
The fund to rebuild Notre Dame
Reached a billion euros
The thorn shall come home to roost on high
Again, a spiritual lightning rod

         
“I write because it allows me to leak a little.” – the author

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