Heavy The Vine Grows

Like a mother and her children

She protects, she provides, and she loves

Giving her all even if it means she must suffer

The fruits of her womb living happily, sheltered beneath their mother’s bosom

Suckling away carelessly, belly’s full and satiated

The comfort in being oblivious, to the fleeting warmth of her embrace

Like fruits ripening on the vine, they grow vibrant and heavy

The product of careful nurturing, and the beacon to starving warblers

Signalling that the turn of the season is near