By Their Fruit

Vine to grape,
Grape to wine,
But what of the thistle
With a pretty flower?

Shear the sheep,
Card the wool,
Spin it by hand,
Lumpy and thick,
Dye the yarn,
Weave a shawl
Attractive and warm,

Clear the pasture
Til the vinyard,
But what of the thistle,
It's brief flower gone,
It's spreading thorn,

"They are dry"
says the vinter,
"Dry" says the shepherd,
"and must burn."