Creep Poem by RIC BASTASA

the vine underneath a thick foliage
always has a way of making itself seen
so slowly it creeps and climbs
the fence
each brick, each grill, each wall
the tendrils climb
and then when it finally sees the sun
it lets go its happy smile
through its little honeysuckles

i watch and felt the art of the tendrils
curling and curling sprouting and then
blooming.

There is a purpose, there is this vision.
I am keeping it. This vine.