Vines grasping at a cement ledge
as if to fulfill a secret pledge.
Under rain and sun it soaks in its stay,
it stiffens like a python with formidable prey.
Its roots are healthy and strong as stone
but it grows as if by will alone.
Branching out without a halt
it avoids being turned to a pillar of salt.
“Look at me.” it demands recognition.
It seems all along this was its mission.
To justify its growth without a doubt in its fibers,
it wants to hear a voice, it wants to be admired.
Rightfully so, I sit and watch you grow.
But you never look back, so you will never know.
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