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A Poem About A Vine



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Sometimes the things
we don't notice
are the sweetest
things of all
Clara
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There is a little vine
growing up the wall
it is so mysterious and
no one knows its name or
if it has one at all.
~O~
It has beautiful little flowers
that smells just like perfume
that opens in the morning
and closes up again
in the late afternoon
~O~
It stretches its tinny fingers
and holds onto a splinter
when summer turns to fall
it sheds all its clothes
and sleeps through the winter



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Clara Strickland Brinkley
copyright©2005
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