The Vines are Waiting
The vines are waiting for the end of February,
for the first warmth of spring to ease the sap
rising in its bones, and bring green, bring color,
and reveal themselves as weed or ornament.
I choose both.
About this poem
About vines and weeds and flowers and boy I am ready for spring.
About all the surprises in our lives.
The picture was taken in Washington, DC.
Strange, but the only poems I seem to write with one subject are love poems.