A Vine in Winter
twisted and bare, yet still it clings
to crumbling stone and frozen things
the winds may howl, the frost may bite
but deep in its veins, the sap burns bright
silent it waits, patient and wise
under the hush of ashen skies
snow weighs heavy on fragile bone
but roots hold strong beneath the stone
no bloom, no green, no velvet leaf
only the promise, quiet and brief
that when the sun returns to reign
the vine will rise and drink the rain
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