Tuesday, June 7, 2005


The Mimosa is a thorny plant with pink flowers shaped like spikey moth balls.  The leaves are like tiny ferns each with an inch long stalk which quickly bends out of the way as soon as you touch any part of the plant, exposing its thorn.  It used to be a nuisance on our farm when it multiplied and spread too fast.  We had to get rid of them every now and then.  It was a fairly difficult task.  If you grab it too gently you can't pull it off the ground as the roots go quite deep.  But the harder you grab it the worse pain you suffer for the thorns are sharp as needles. 


Over the years I have learnt to appreciate its beauty and treat it with respect since it is no longer a threat to my occupation.




The mimosa is a sophisticated lady

She grows seemingly fragile, sensitive and pretty

Standing on limbs nimble and slender

Sways in the breeze appearing so tender


Quietly by the wayside blooming in pinkish hue

Fresh in the morning still moist with dew

But touch her not or sharp thorns she will bare

She dares to hurt you so better beware


She cringes at every touch ever so mere

Take heed for that is no show of fear

If ever you invade or violate her virgin sanctity

She will defend herself with righteous ferocity


Her dainty leaves like fans she deftly lower

Swiftly strives to protect her every flower

So stoop not to take her in a manner so fierce

The harder you grip the deeper she'd pierce


This principle of nature to remind you less you forget

Within every life a means itself to protect

Judge not this lady by her gentle demeanour

Treat her with respect and safeguard her honour



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