Against a crust of snow
a vibrant mask appears
amidst white, a welcomed plight.
Trailing, twisting, turning…
Bitter sweet good-byes
beckoning eyes to garner;
baited, bribe’s delight.
Stony slopes and timber thicket…
Climbing woody heights,
clamber in clusters,
canker or cursed blight.
Value the Veracious Vine…
Drink not bittersweet liquor,
dulls the shrouded mind,
dims the veiled eye’s sight.
“I am the Vine; you are the branches.
Whoever abides in me and I in him,
he it is that bears much fruit, for
apart from me you can do nothing.”
At dVerse we are entertaining poisonous plants. Hopefully, we’ll all survive.