Passion of the Ivy Heart

Entangled at the base of us,
Like ivy to a tree.
War drums planted at the heart,
Call to us a war less harsh.
One of the roses, and the blossom,
Every beat in tune with we.

What started in the drip of summer,
Passion filling hits the brim.
And slowly ivy strips the bark,
This "we" of us draws closer too.

With winter's wake so late to come,
We hear the cawing of the crow.
So swiftly we retreat from heaven.
An apple gained without sin.
Dormant in winter,
Silently waiting,
Waiting to rise again.