Across the Path

The winter woods

A tangled

Crosshatch brown

A faux spring clears the

Patchy snow

To loose the unclaimed ground

Adjacent runs the vineyard

Rows

Evidenced the copious care

Fruitless now

But neatly pruned to

Yield another year

And I am sometimes tangled

And I am sometimes rowed

If there is one

I've cause to be

I choose a tended soul