Drunken
Vines, twisting, crawling,
slowly thicken and ascend
seeking sunlight at the top;
old tree fashions crutch,
tiny tendrils clutch rough bark-
out of darkness into light.
Someday soon I will
stroll again wild forest path,
purple wine stains on my lips.
Copyright, July 20, 2016
Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2016
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