From the LOVE TRIPTYCH
Atop a hill adorning drear, where not all is live but not yet is all dead, where children may have once come to play in antiquity, where lovers might have long ago sworn of forever, where once a life may have been idly lived, now grows a lonesome little Vine. To live alone is drab, of course, for her, lorn is it to live as only her, with not a mother to succeed nor sister for whom to care, such is her burden, and such is hers alone to carry. Truly, Vine is Vine and Vine alone, and Vine alone must grow here still. Vine alone must grow slow as slowly she can, for Vine shalt wilt, as any Vine wilt, should she admit to dreams of so. And should Vine wilt, so she wishes, Vine shall yet be joyous true. -Ryan Lewis