No one likes the vines that surround my Orchid
Or at least, that's what they say.
It occurs to me, that people don't see,
The simple ways .
The vines don't do anything,
Not unless they are provoked.
They simply grow wildly,
and protect that graveyard from being soaked.
The willow never complains,
The birds don't laugh.
I certainly do not mind,
For the secrets they keeps stashed.
Yet the neighbors always grumble
That the vines may, hurt.
It seems to me
That people only see,
The thorns with an ever smoking smirk.
YOU ARE READING
A Willow in my Garden
PoetryInspired by current muses of the fire. In other words, poems with flare!
