Slender vine that climbs the wall,
Your windings now embrace and grasp
A hidden strength.
And when at length
Your tendrils die, you will unclasp
And, gently, then, in weakness fall.
But until then, who is to say
What deep ideals you can retain?
Your curling branches grope,
And in your thoughts you hope:
You need not ever live in vain
If but your soul be understood, some day.