Our Victorian- folk, whimsical and worn

Surrounding garden plants dance in the wind,

Cry in the rain and burn in the heat

Once quaint gardens I forgot to trim back.

The hydrangea tree, now natural and unfettered

Crowds our entrance way, overspreads its boundary

Her viperous roots pushing against the foundation


Our Victorian- vintage, antiquated and stoic

Three generations of paint revealed in two spots

Once red, then blue now yellow

Layered on asbestos tile with

A trellis nothing grows on, and

One manufactured birds nest – abandoned

Unused since the last occupants

Moved out.


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