Rare flowers blossom in cold,
Like the Wisteria at my front gate
that blooms just before Spring declares its arrival
and decrees her season.
Wisteria welcomes those who enter,
with mesmerizing scent
of fragrance that takes you back to alleys in “Shemron”,
or, the delightful drive on a winding road
overlooking the olive orchards of the Northern hills of “Gilan” .
Wisteria with her whimsical cluster blossoms
of lavender, purple and blue
droop downward from dry brown stems ,
as if her head, lowered in respect for those souls of light ,
who enter this house, those mystical few.
Wisteria , you can not touch,
it flutters and falls apart,
as if her beads are pearls in seas,
and straight from an oyster’s heart.
frost will kill her instantly, she lives but only one month.
Wisteria grows so tall, I always wonder in awe,
climbing the rocky wall, that guides it upward,
away from one’s reach, as if she knows of temptation
of those fools who take her life without regard.
Wisteria has smooth handsome leaves
divided into leaflets that tells the story of ,
withering precious life . As determined as she should be
embracing long cold nights, yet is tender and fragile,
Nature sure has its way of how to display,
magnanimous beauty and love.
Wisteria can’t keep in vase,
it dies away from its vine.
If picked won’t be fragrant,
she shrivels into small beads so sad,
that any one could see, how the being that was she,
has lost her soul so grand.
Wisteria reminds me of my heart,
The heart I used to have…
