The woodbine decorates its host in yellow
but gay blossoms cover its true intent
as it attempts to choke the little tree
or at the least leave it twisted and bent

Young tree accomodates its tormenter
by bulging bark between the ropy vine
which tightens as the growing tree gains girth
it's mere luck this tree's not a soft barked pine

This alder I spotted beside a road
on verge of death as its starved leaves browned
I cut and freed it from its stranging foe
a helical staff I now tote around