Spread over a heart of green
it stills the eyes that rove
on bright afternoons.

It skirts grandpas like a hem.
Worn beside the heart
it induces a handshake
or a sleep.

It blooms beside a fountain
or a watercourse.

One could see it fastened
to a buttonhole though.

Torn to shreds in dry beds
a crucifixion awaits the creepers
that ride it rough-shod.

 © CR Mittal

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