Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle may not grow.
The Lilly may fade and its leaves decay, The Rose from its stem may sever, The Shamrock and Thistle may pass away, But the Stars will shine forever.
I wasn't born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilightNo I was all horns and thorns sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright. - Joanna Newsom