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
Breathtaking.
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.
-LGF
