Honeysuckle

“It wilts fast“, she says, and I wonder if this is simply fact or something more akin to prophecy
She breaths deep and sighs, “But this smell is spring to me”
I understand how she feels
There were great tangled bushes of it growing behind my childhood home
There, amongst the trees for which I had no names no matter how often my father tried to teach me,
Breathing that first faint whiff, I knew that spring had beaten back bitter death once more
Unlike we mortals, who only get a few trips round the sun before winter triumphs eternally.
I wonder when my time will come, and when will hers
But I will not dwell in this thought
I shall leave these catacombs untenanted until nature forces them upon me
Till then I shall revel in her smile and dance to the music of her every laugh
I will know warm breezes on my coldest days
And feel the sun upon me even in my longest night
I will breathe deep of her life and take spring with me
For she is my Honeysuckle