Ivy

This isn't much of a poem, I'm afraid. But tomorrow is the last day of Lyssa Poetry Month and I'll have something really good then, promise.



Constantly it climbs, grows
always it shows itself
to know its creation.
Twining up and down,
into the ground and
up around the trees
and buildings, pulling apart
the mason's art but
the heart of the maker remains.
Ivy thrives in shade
but was made for
light, prayed to and
feared and a crown
of ancient renown, even
cut down and hated.
Evergreen ivy shall engrave
all things save none,
even the grave, its foe,
it covered in life, and forgave.