The Family Vine
In sweet tilled earth, the vine we sow,
From nought but seed begins to grow,
But know not the wind it carried fro,
Or if at all our way will blow.
The light crave first, the single vine,
And more she finds as on she climbs,
Then outward cast, now two betwine,
Together now the pair be bind.
By wind and rain these vines be fashioned,
And summer sun and all its passion,
By good and bad, and all that happen,
But now’s the time! Be all forgotten.
For spring is here, and all she bloomed.
Limbs with berries all festooned.
Although your time be all consumed,
Display them now, wind takes them soon.
For vines they will be of their own,
And on their limbs their seeds be grown,
Which in your earth will make their home,
And all from this, the one seed sown.
Beno - 2017