Across The Window

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