Blackthorn

In a copse in a scrub
In a dense woodland grows
The blackthorn
Loves moisture
From the family Rose

Loved by the butterflies
And moths who fly
Nectar and pollen
Percentages high
Great for pollinators
In Spring we see
Masses of white flowers
That bloom beautifully

Male flowers and female flowers
On the same tree
Created together in perpetuity
Prunus Spinoza the Latin name
Inky dark fruits
In the Autumn
The same
sloe berries really
For making sloe gin
A wild woodland beauty
When the new frosts begin

To whiten the mornings
That’s when the sloes
Take on the energised fruitiness
And pose
A really sweet draught
Of sugar and fruit
And when stored for six months
The gin’s bound to suit

Fruity and potent
A nice glass will show
The tree and it’s berries
And those who do know
How much the thorn giveth
The wood when it grew
All the wild flying creatures
That enjoyed its truth too.