Wild Grape Vine with the Pine Tree

She plans in the spring,
in soft green,
touching the giant, rough and high:
She will reach the top.

Determined, she knows how:
doing her best.

In summer, great green,
mighty and high. Even the moon holds her breath.

Autumn comes around, and the vine has
climbed, not even half of the way to the top.
She doubts: she may not make it.
a reminder of the cousin’s overdone dream.
Still, she laughs, her leaves blazing crimson.

With the first frost, she whispers to the moon:
“I will return. Meanwhile, I will join
the party of the dancing leaves.”

© Byung A. Fallgren