The Ivy House
As a relic of those bygone days, it sits alone and neglected
With turrets high and shutters drawn its mystery story perfected
Bay windows that at one time shone now dirty where dust has caught
The front door still looks elegant but the paint has lost its gloss
Standing above rounded steps with railing and boot scraper rusted deep
Once opened by a servant in a white apron and lacy cap each guest to greet
The walls when built were red brick strong, a sight for all around
People wondered at those rich folks building in their little town
At times in carriage and horses wrapped up in furs, they passed
A sidelong glance to others was friendship enough to last
Behind the walls, high lived that strange family in recluse
Each day brought speculation from town gossip wild and loose
The years went by and the children left for education no doubt
The Lord and Lady of that house were never heard about
Steeped in mystery with a hidden secret that house at the edge of town
No amount of watching and hoping could pin their story down
Suddenly it happened, an empty house the residents have gone
The iron gates were locked and bolted no trespassers to go beyond
But the owners need not have worried because nobody was brave enough
To climb that wall and plunder in the garden wild and rough
From tiny roots, the ivy grew and climbed with earnest glee
The front was red brick one day and green the next you see
It seemed that climbing plant was indeed hiding a secret deep
Even the rooftop tiles it covered in an endless climbing creep
Free of growth the windows like eyes watching never dimmed
Staring blankly from out of a beard the owner had never trimmed
Copyright © Agnes Clarke | Year Posted 2018
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