Marian Thistle

Though we’ve not won I’m sure of profit.

And o’er canon lost we needn’t repent.

And though we’ll again out-sing day,

Marian’s father’s gone dead today –

At a loss — I’ll yet sing out to him.

Sing out sea purple back out crossing.

Dying (recall) he’d not consent!

Though consoling thistle be this isle’s ore

Given our purpled fields I’m sure –

Anon — soon we’ll all sing out ‘gain.

G‘ven dying I’d say we once swore:

If we trudge tired and daggered ignore.

If we digging out purple-dead read –

Another Ruadh’s coral rests now instead –

Read neither shelter nor dig pit no more.

Grieving thorny stand here I attest.

Though thistles tired seem empty floret.

Shelter back out this my friend’s sight –

Board grief ferry enter purpling dark –

Marian grows out o’ the spell of his death.