Sunlight fingers its way through leaves,
a glint, a pulse of green and gold.
The vine is knotted, anchored deep,
its veins murmuring earth’s slow breath.
Branches curve, burdened with their yield,
thick clusters slung like ancient coins,
a promise hung between sky and soil—
this union sweet in its ripening.
You draw from me the sap, the thread,
each bond soft yet sinewed, taut,
as roots and tendrils weave unseen,
binding the weight of seasons' creed.
This closeness, raw, fertile, alive—
no chasm breaks, no branch estranged.
Together we swell; the harvest bows,
the pressing ache of fruit made full.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: August 29th, 2025 11:14
- Comment from author about the poem: Today is my mom's 87th heavenly birthday she died one year ago and I miss her dearly
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Sunflowersinrain
Offline)
Comments2
another great write
Thanks Norman I appreciate your feedback
most welcome
The interrelatedness of all nature and its holds and nourishment all interwoven. Nicely said
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