I had forgotten,
The way vines tendrils will change,
Surprising me with a heart,
A tight curl in unlikely place,
I was focused on the past,
The thick, brown stem,
Crawling straightly,
Up the wall,
And didn't notice,
New, purple plants,
Shooting from the ground,
To wrap around,
The highest windows,
So long had I stared,
Upon the old and well-established
(but rotting away),
My mind gasped in wonder,
At the vine,
Who retained its youthful vigor,
And willowy form,
After enduring years by the straight stock,
Pale green reached deep into
But a few,
Bricks,
And was my favorite flavor.