The burn pile is full of branches
You wrested from a neglected arbor.
They will light the November sky
When we find the perfect chilly night.
In my living room, you left
The artwork of wisteria twining
Its expressionistic way through time
And storm, seasons past remembering.
Everything can burn and eventually will.
But there is art in your gift and art
In its making, and we will grow
Like the vine into something stronger.