The Ivy Climbs Abysmal Pt V
The ivy climbs abysmal,
In a tapestry of vines,
The coloured leaves,
Spill o’er the eaves,
So thick it cleaves,
The brickwork grieves,
And mournfully repines.
The windows cast in shadow,
And the balustrading worn,
The pall of time,
With rot sublime,
The clinging grime,
A sorry rhyme,
The edifice forlorn.
The building stricken dingy,
In the absence of the sun,
The walls of stone,
With ivy sewn,
So overgrown,
In sombre tone,
With daylight dreary wan.
The spectres in the hallway,
Are the memories of cheer,
Such buoyant days,
With sunny rays,
The hidden phase,
A golden glaze,
With daylight hitting clear.
The garden in the gloaming,
With the birds in merry sport,
The fountain’s tune,
A happy boon,
The starling’s croon,
Below the moon,
Such beauty to report.
But then a sick inertia,
And the advent of the curse,
The days of yore,
A lonely shore,
The ivy’s claw,
Devouring more,
In gusto growing worse.
The ivy climbs abysmal,
In portentousness and doom,
Its gathered weight,
Upon the slate,
Dost enervate,
Excoriate,
In paralysing gloom.
adamdaniel 