Vines Poem by Blood Rose
Vines
Each and every spring the vines grow.
They creep and they crawl.
Over everything possible.
The Vines grow strong and green.
They bud leaves and flowers.
Then in summer when the time is ripe.
The vines grow fruit.
And the fruit is a bunch grapes.
Then autumn comes,
The grapes are harvested and sold.
Winter comes, and the vine withers.
Then spring comes and the vine grows again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/4/2024 5:50:59 AM # 1.0.0.1119
