The fence is left to morning glories, <br />The heft of their heaping vines - <br />Tendrils and leaves, <br />Flowers and seeds - <br />Each not the weight of a feather <br />But together they sag <br />The rusting chicken wire <br />On the four nails <br />Holding it to birch posts. <br /> <br />The fence is left to morning glories, <br />The morning is left to write itself, <br />And the glory is left to God.<br /><br />Lillian Susan Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fence-is-left-to-morning-glories/
