The Vine crept out across the window, tall and arched, <br />and curled in such profusion as it went, <br />Planted there with great pride so many years ago, <br />each year it’s growth is always so well spent. <br />Its flowers like long golden trumpets in clusters hang, <br />varied colours, reds, pinks and yellows glow. <br />Decorating the fine old Victorian bricks, <br />giving to all a spectacular show. <br /> <br />The twisted and gnarled high branches giving support, <br />look sadly bare when winter comes around, <br />A bird’s-nest is suddenly spied within its wrap, <br />empty now of its cargo. Not a sound <br />is heard of four chirping chicks who cried out last spring, <br />all have flown now, making new homes in trees. <br />Amongst foliage, little ones are warm and safe, <br />shielded from rain and sun and teasing breeze. <br /> <br />The Vine crept our across the window, tall and arched, <br />and curled in such profusion as it went, <br />To see it, through the four seasons, is such a joy, <br />its fresh renewal, leaving one content. <br /> <br /> <br />© Ernestine Northover<br /><br />Ernestine Northover<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/across-the-window-2/
