The vegetation can't assess its chances;
it just grows. Wisteria doubles its advances:-
two elephant-outline tendrils where one
jiggled its curling 'trunk tip' in the wind,
nodded a sage brow, empty of wherewithal,
absently fishing for the asphalt shed roof,
two snips of the shears before I'm gone
aboard a jet plane, leaving this season behind.
Such a setback will not at all appal
roots of this beauty. A shearing no proof
habitual strategies should be modified.
Perhaps the plant-thought flashes forth: 'We tried:
in spring will try again, one day to succeed;
and if not this little tangle, surely our seed.'
.................
Its some kind of sonnet - neither traditional in rhyme scheme nor metre.
Nowadays, the growing season here seems to continue until and
unless sufficient frosts compel its pause.
