Poem: Ivy

Ivy

The tiny, tender tendrils grow
even here,
on the stone hard bricks,

in a place that would seem
to offer nothing,
no nourishment, soil or water,

only unyielding hardness,
and yet, the ivy grows,
nay, more than grows,

but flourishes and in time,
covers the brick wall like a blanket,
it's roots finding their way

deep into cracks unimagined,
like love's triumph
in the hardest heart.

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The picture was taken at Poplar Forest, Thomas Jefferson's "other" house in Forest, Va. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom