In shouldered rows of frosted bark,
the vines raise shivered arms,
toward the wintered sky of grey;
in thirsting for the warmth.
In tangled reach of bare-born branch,
they hold to dreams of Spring,
and sing their silent songs of life,
to buddings deep within.
Written for Margo’s Wordgatherings: Tuesday Try an Image Out
http://margoroby.wordpress.com/
Beautiful poem, Adelaide.
ReplyDeleteOops! Sorry, Roslyn, I got stuck in the Adelaide Hills.
ReplyDeleteI love the connection of buds waiting for spring. Everyone thinks that winter is quiet and the ending of things, but it's life and activity and forced growth. I loved your poem. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThanks to you both.
ReplyDeletethey hold to dreams of Spring,
ReplyDeleteand sing their silent songs of life,
to buddings deep within.
LOVE this!! Well done image!!
Of all the winter poems I have read to this prompt, this is my favourite.
ReplyDeleteLOVE the photograph! The vines look alive. The poem embodies the personality I see, but easily stands on its own, without the photograph.
ReplyDelete