If you like Virginia Creeper, as I do, you'll probably enjoy John Updike's poem.
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 scarce a ripping sound,
still flourishing, still
stretching toward the sun -
is good also, all photosynthesis
abandoned, quite quits. Next spring
the hairy rootlets left upulled
snake out a leafy afterlife
up that same smooth-barked oak.
(from Endpoint and other poems, by John Updike, pub. Alfred A. Knopf 2009)