David McLansky

Freshman - 991 Points (5/24/1944 / New York City)

Vines - Poem by David McLansky

All vines curl toward the light
Deep within the shaded night;
Twist and reach within the tangle,
Grip and leap from every angle;
And I a seed of dead leaves born,
Crawl aloft as one forlorn,
Knowing that I strive in vain,
Still encased for all my pain;
Enclosed in darkness as I call,
The towering trees umbrella all;
A vine of chance in midst and gloom
Who savored not the silver moon.


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, December 2, 2012



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