On the way home,
I saw Boston Ivy along the roadside.
It is the only green on the wall
that made me want to stop
and watch it
to see how it grows.

I admire Boston Ivy.
It is a crazy cat,
weaving wherever it wants.
You never know where it is,
it will show up only when it want to.
No one can control it.

I like the fetching Boston Ivy,
goes onward and never stops growing.
No one can arrest its forward steps,
like you might keep a cat from jumping to your bed.

I adore Boston Ivy.
It will never give up climbing,
from the moment it started to sprout.

I can easily perceive Boston Ivy.
Like a naughty child,
who messes up the yard with red paint.
Like a motivated student,
Who fixes the clock without a hour.
Like a struggling teenager,
Who learns enunciation for his future actor’s career.
It never will collapse.

Boston Ivy has no scent,
unlike a fragrant  flower,
but I still can detect it,
because its curling,
its disposition,
its uniform volition.