With what stoic delicacy does
Virginia creeper let go:
the feeblest tug brings down
a sheaf of leaves kite-high,
as if to say, To live is good
but not to live – to be pulled down
with a scarce a ripping sond,
sill flourishing, still
stretching toward the sun –
is good also, all photosynthesis
abandoned, quite quits. Next spring
the hairy rootlets left unpulled
snake out a leafy oafterlife
up that sam smooth-barked oak.
John Updike, em 22 de Dezembro de 2008. Da coleção de poemas póstumos, Endpoint. Altamente recomendável.