Ivy

We are the vines

That cling to the rooted tree,

Green, afraid to leave

The place where we first sprouted.

But eventually, the tree grows old,

Its shade thins and fails

To protect us from the insistent sun

Who demands our face in the light of day.

So, we creep

Out of our protective shadows

Slowly forward, then back again

Inching out a twisted, winding path

In a life we’re never quite sure of

Toward something we’ve never seen,

But hope against hope is still there.