The Lady Down the Lane
Cold and lonely vines cling
-desperation in their naked rattles
and envy in the hint of gold on the hedge
from the taunting forsythia.
She had always crept out by now
on these seductive days that hinted Spring,
hands softened by nurturing
african violets, bright bromeliads and
the hanging spider, witness of many
years gone and now passed.
Until at last … no one came …
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