Wild Woodbine

Several decades ago
In the woods whilst a walking
I was able to take a cutting
Because
In a clockwise manner
It apparently was growing
Succeeding in being
Unbelievably knowing

Of all things
Of light, of the dark
And surroundings
A climber of hedgerows
Scented and sweet
Bees seemed attracted
To this deciduous windflower
As they kind of got closer
It, seemed to greet

Some magic, one supposes
And the cutting was planted
Back at her home
And it relished it’s move
Along the fence like a vine
It established
It’s presence so beautifully
Clearly a sign

It continued its progression
With each passing session
Budding and flowering
And tempting the Bees
Swarmed by the others
The true pollinators
Surely in months to come
It’s flowers would please

Then one day, the neighbours
Started pulling up the plantings
Moving their edge of the garden around
Pulling out roots and the true steadfast
Greenery
And leaving many broken bits there on the ground
Didn’t show care for the long winding suckle
Cut back and poisoned
Ignorance they
Just left the remnants toxic and broken
And there it did lay at the end of a day

Why do folk do this? arrogance blisteringly
Alters the custom and breaks off the flow
All of the many years, of wilding nurture
Thrown out and broken unrewarded we know
In the new house a wood sprung and caring
Chestnuts and beech trees and a wealth of Ivy
Birdsong and butterflies
A Murder of crows
The odd owl proclaiming
And a small cloud of blackbirds
Beautiful melodies
Beginning To pose

The sweet honey suckle
Depicting a colour
A faery like wonderful majestic hue
At the drop of each day
A deciduous entrant
Exclusively mobile
With scent of sublimity
Along the way.
The nature of wildness
Bonded and glorious
Tasting the composted
Ground with much glee
Joining the faeries their ultimate aura
As shape shifting garlands
And collective flora.