Ivy’s Grip

Some parts of nature ill yield up their grip

Its fibre and bindings contrive to stick

As we wade through dark woods

And challenge our selves, some thickets will trip.

Run with little poisons, bending positions

Real forests of plant and tangles of mind

Lay trimmed, but net and ribbon

Snaring you, not existing to preen their position

Some parts of plants and people live to offer up opposition

For true, challenge and all that lives makes places and tradition.

By. J.W.H. Hobbs.