Vine Yard

I am like a vine,

who spreads across the ground and into the treetops.

Seen as a nuisance, to be cut off like a weed.

Flowers fear me to cover them and take away from their pride and splendor,

many of them will die from the incoming storm.

There have been many snakes in the garden recently,

mimicking my vines.

Hard to see the difference plainly.

I am cut away as they try to find them,

to remove them from the garden.

Yet they have always been here,

so elusive and seductive.

“How can a creature move without feet, such a wonder!”

The blind trip over my vines as they wander.

“There he is!” they say, grabbing onto me,

“Now we shall cut off its tail so we trip no more.”