Seedlings placed by chance or hand,

burst to thrust from loam and sand.

Their journey skyward a jagged path,

intertwining askew betwixt slatted lath.


With thorny fingers, not meant to reveal,

oft misread yet intensions are real.

Twisting and weaving through space and time,

trellis clung for their treacherous climb.


They’ve hands of green to catch the rays,

holding the light for cloudy days.

Or drenches, droughts and starless nights,

all’s risen anew to new morning heights.


Weathering a diverse world of adversity,

timely teachings taught of tolerance and tenacity.

Evolving resolve for dependence together,

blooms beckon bees and birds of a feather.


Golden treasure’s deep to entice and please,

fragrant allure’s cast to the breeze.

Sights and scents sensed by all.

Colors await next seasons call.


Days grow shorter, stems grow long,

primed for pruning though nothing wrong.

Bunched and bundled, arrayed and displayed,

till petals drop there a table laid.


Brushed in hand returned to land,

budding foundation where others may stand.

Cohesive nature’s expressive of art,

cycles revolve all back to start.


And this rose but a metaphor for all that’s living,

words remind literally of what life’s giving.




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