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Vines and Tree
Once upon a time there was a tree,
Quite happy, healthy, standing free.
Then sprouted a vine to embrace it,
They looked good together by every bit.
With time the embrace grew tighter,
The tree looked like a captured fighter.
As more vines grew, the tree grew old,
Sapped of juice, robbed of life, untold.
Yet the world adored flowers and scent,
Of the vines climbing, smiling without repent.
Why not, when the tree is the mother,
Vines are family, society, who don't bother.
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