As I was scanning the scenery for poetic prompts on Saturday, I was amused to find myself drawn to the burgeoning vine leaves in our garden which had been the unsuspecting victims of a mass hack down by Android last year. Wise to the error of his ways, Android has taken a more gentle approach to his pruning this year I am relieved to say. The vines, so they tell me, were pleased to find their voice in the following poem penned on the morning of my Poetrython.
In Vine Voice
Well thank you sir, you listened then
‘Bout time we had our say
Do you think we’ve forgotten when
you hacked us all away?
It was unfair to chop us there
You punished us unduly!
We weren’t some mane of horses hair
That had become unruly!
Just little vines, the summer’s sign
That it was time for creeping
You might have turned our fruits to wine
If you’d thought before leaping!
But we are back, our buds on track
We’re stronger and well nourished
No sour grapes or looking back
Just leave us here to flourish!