Growth

I twine you, little trellis, close and fond, And swing in wistful threads above, beyond, For air and space to blossom. Be it so. Ah me! I love you, but the plant must grow.

I quiver with the call of summer heat, With all the wild sap stirring at my feet. My quiet trellis, impotent to know The earth and sun command me: I must grow.

You cannot share my ardent life apart, Nor feel the upward straining of my heart. In every vein the urging currents flow, Leaf after leaf unfolds: the plant must grow.