Alone, the morning glories bloom, <br />And wither in a single day. <br />Together, their tendrils strive and stretch <br />In flowering spirals <br />Along the rusting barbed wire fence. <br />They creep and crowd <br />Straight up the creosote-laden poles <br />That line the highway, strictly measured, <br />Evenly spaced, and counted. <br /> <br />They reach into the soul of a <br />Juniper in their path, <br />Smother it, strangle it <br />To a resentful frame of pale yellow, <br />Atop a brittle brown foundation <br />Of thorns. <br /> <br />Hallucinogenic beauty <br />Pulsing through the seasons, <br />Tightening its grip in gradual spring, <br />Letting go in time for winter’s blinding numbness. <br />And vulnerable strength is defeated slowly, <br />With the steady, silent alacrity <br />That is faith.<br /><br />Gary Witt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/along-a-roadside/
