Snowy flowers

Clutching

To thick vines

That drip, drip, drip

From silver branches

Twisting

Around smooth trunks

Brandishing

Thorns

Tips dyed blue

By some strange

Blood

Or rare

Berry

Sometimes

A bird

Tired from journey

Will rest

On the ropes

Bed there

For a night

And then

Find a trust

For the twists

And never

Flight

Again

And so

These vines

Become a cage

As the creatures

Waste

Unaware

And sing praises

Until their beaks

Will rise

No

More

Sometimes

I try to warn them

But who

Would listen

To such a young girl

With her long, black

Hair

And eyes

Blues once

And gray then

Shifting

In the light and attitude

So that

Though I tell

Only truths

The birds are already

Captors of the vine

Singing

From future cages

Wasting

Away

Unnoticed

Except for me

Giving

Everything for

Snowy flowers