Sweet pea

In several gardens in the neighborhood sweet pea trails across fences, winds its way up lattices, runs wild through flowerbeds.
And while walking by, breathe: Sweet scent, sweet pea.
But don’t eat the peas; they are poisonous.

Still, the glow of sunset through their blossoms is exquisite.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.
~ Boris Pasternak