most pay no mind to humble vines
that rise from the decay
to scale the spires, steal their lives
and cover them someday
and most find them a nuisance, true
but they don't see what they can do
they scale up high into the trees *
and live on after you or me
when progress leads to it's demise
both wood and stone choked by the vines
in sprawling cities, quiet towns
foundations will come crumbling
down
without a fight, these humble vines
will rise from the decay
when progress gives way to demise
they'll take it back someday
Repost...one of the first poems I posted here and wrote with my muse