A Tryst Among Trees

A poem about relationships and a few other things. Slight parody of Shakespeare's "All The World's A Stage".

A Tryst Among Trees

The vines grope from the soil below,

They trace along the lined bark,

Wrung and naved by age, like a ripe Bordeaux,

The sweet taste of autumn colours and stark

Aroma, flare the tendrils, up we go,

Along the bend, a hundred crossroads,

Dead ends met with timely woe,

As surely as colour corrodes,

From sensual to warm, they glow,

Up we go, now the skin is smooth

And young, but squirming and rampuling,

Mouth-frothing, in need of lullabies to soothe

The infantile fascination, always sleuthing,

Up no more, nature stops, as does all things,

Dies, then brought anew, woven with silk strings.

Author's Note

Another very old poem.