POETRY

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...