The Trumpet Vine

The trumpet vine, at least as old as I am,
will not die. It sprouts and twines, breeds and twists
into the sun to blossom. Growing within a younger
Virginia creeper hedged unruly in its habits,
this old vine discharges blooms shouting orange
disrespectful of the foliage green.  I cannot kill it.
My failure though delights
the hummingbirds and bees, so
perhaps a balance claims us all.

One thought on “The Trumpet Vine

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