Dreams On The Vine

So many dreams hang
on this weary vine,
so many worlds await
the touch of discovery.
They struggle and shiver through
winter's leaden whispers,
they glow, burnt by
a diamond tip of light
in the summertime.
Tears flow, though,
when these battered hands
can't reach them
as they recede into
an unfeeling sky,
fruits turned into birds.