A Death in Ivy
Down behind the Walters’ farm,
The ivy leaves are strung,
Along the steaming waters clean,
And from the black earth sprung,
The winding path is like a twine,
That twists along the water,
The daily haunt of Paris fair,
The farrier’s bright daughter,
Arising from a romance jibe,
A hurtful, snide remark,
The girl was sore awash with tears,
And stumbling in the dark,
I will find my special place,
And solace by the stream,
To while away the misery,
Of my heart’s broken dream,
I’ll find the happy fishing spot,
I went to with my father,
The place I played, so undismayed,
With my sweet little brother,
The path was black against the night,
And not a star was gleaming,
She did not see the pointed rock,
As on she raced careening,
And pitching forward, tripping wild,
The teary maiden lurched and fell,
And hit a rock aside the stream,
Her scream — a shrill and pained death knell,
Noone about to hear her cry,
No other soul awake or near,
A death in ivy, water lapped,
Her ams outstretched in water clear…
AD Lovkis, 10/07/25
adamdaniel 