Underneath A Mulberry Tree

Old Roses-
rustic, uncertain;
blossoming underneath
a twenty-one-year-old
Mulberry Tree-
impatiently wait
to know
why they bloomed
in the
dark stains
of Mulberries.

I envy
the evening wind
that is caressing
your face.
Because the
only thing
that I want
to caress
your face
is my poetry.

Those Wisteria Vines
tell me
that scratching
a piece of poetry
is like ruining
a piece of art,
and that brewing
Black English Tea
is like writing
a poem
and baking
Apple Pancakes
is like finding
lost metaphors.

Old Roses
almost scratch
this poem
with their nihility.
But because
Mulberry Trees
symbolize
calculated patience,
they choose
to notice
the reason
why this poem
is titled
'Underneath A
Mulberry Tree'
instead of freezing
in the havocs
of pessimistic frosts.

Wisteria Vines,
those old Roses,
and this poem
are meant
to live
and love patiently
underneath a
patient Mulberry Tree.