© by Rogue Poet
In the mourning quiet of the dawn,
And as I sat upon the rocky ledge,
I reflected on new budding Wisteria
Yet, when late winter ice falls,
Tis then the Wisteria puts on her crown,
…wrinkles in time, a tree’s phthisical skin
A thought I had while returning to life...
I watched light shadows traverse the lawn,
saw colored leaves on sleepy boughs,
watched daddy mockers stuff yearning mouths.
I pondered opportunities, new life on the edge.
My mind, I wandered, of this first morn of spring,
to grasp what growth, this new season might bring.
its calm growing climb amidst living hysteria.
A new viney bud slowly ascends a great oak…
puts on new green, throws off hoar-frosted cloak.
to cover ground and hallowed halls
with sparkling frozen latticed mesh
and limn the tress w’ leering diamond flesh…
of lavender blossoms hanging down,
and fills the air with such heady scent,
you’d swear this vine was from heaven lent!
lines the face, yet covers not the grin
of ancient entity looking down
on this new vines’ growing gown. 
