Vine

.

If you were an ivy vine

would you spread

across the foothills,

wind your way

through sharp pitched mountains

curling ’round

the fallen log

where it bridges the muddy slough?

.

Would you wend your way

around deep lakes and

through the tangled valleys

to the stand of trees

where you’d remember me?

.

And would you wrap

around my trunk and

spiral through my branches

as you followed every curve

to the top

where we both

could touch the sky?

.

And at noon

when you felt

the warm lips

of the sun

upon your leaves

would you sink

your comely roots

into my bark?

I think you’d grow on me.

 .

.

(c) 2013, 2018  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(a re-post from 2013)

Advertisement