A Vine In Winter

Dewdrops, on me, like diamond dust, roll Do they know that I shiver in my soul? I feel the earth beneath me pull my roots. Are hellhounds assigned to destroy my fruits? In me, no birds and beasts find any fun. I yearn for the graceful glimpse of the sun. I feel the life sap in me is drained out. I doubt whether new leaves from my stems will sprout. The pruning scissors break my bones and veins. Culling of my tendrils surges my pains. I bear all these as they aren't forever. Isn't, after all, life an endeavor?