_by Aimee Greene-Abbott._
A curious vine leaned over the wall,
Gay with pride, and straight and tall.
It danced and swung in the playful wind,
And peered about to see what it could find.
Its tendrils, light and airy and gay,
Flaunted and fluttered, day after day,
Till a larger vine on the side of a church,
Swung out a branch, with decisive lurch.
He grasped the tendril with loving force,
(She thought she couldn’t resist, of course.)
They twined together, heart to heart,
Now none who pass can tell them apart.
[Illustration: _Drawn by A. I. Keller._]