A Vine in Winter
Sleeping, my darling. Laid out, my sweetheart. Cold.
Memories of springtime, sappy. Doormat, dormant.
Tolerance in the hush of Winter. No hurry to bud.
A vine in Winter;
Winter is slow.
Just how I like it.
Nutrients, in a nutshell; the soil spoils me with its richness.
I shake and sip through a straw; divine all the royalties,
whilst sleeping, dreaming of a verdant summertime.
Winter is slow.
Just how I like it.
Carbohydrate-filled, I don’t need much energy to laze
about in the hills, watching flakes melt upon my vines.
My time; I am expecting to thrill, when warmed to the gills.
A vine in Winter.
Just how I like it.
I don’t mind this tender time, for in due season, I’ll grow.
For now, cryoprotectants let me safely tarry. Tomorrow
is a sunny disposition, Annie; the terminus of dreamland.
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