Briars

Tangled like lovers, the briars grow tall,
Stalks intertwining, thorns grasping wall.
Leaves spreading greenly, to cover the stone,
Tenderly touching the moss on the rone.

Roots, deep down under, buried thickly in loam,
Timeless and dark, tightly tangled, alone.
Tested by weather, the wind and the rain.
Taking great ages to stiffen and strain.

Tiredly climbing the walls of the world,
Thorns fit for crowns on the briars, all curled.
Making slow progress, to soar without wings,
Beauty and pain for the king of all kings.

Nature's creation, hard yet sincere,
Pacing the seasons throughout the long year.
Bristling with sympathy, fruitfully hung,
Adorned in green splendour, forever young.