White Ash Sapling Trees

Outside a large door, teal paint is flaking And above the ornate lead transom light- Cobwebbed: shows us there is no mistaking This place is a place of neglect—despite Being the threshold of her house—her home. There are brambles and white ash sapling trees. Growing and barring the path. And leaf loam Soft and solemn, here's a sense of unease Captured by herself; the occupant—wan. Ashen, she a winter's moon, a strange girl- Stark and withered, she's like some winter swan- On its frozen pond, her goosebumps knurl. She only wants access - what can she do. When the bolts in her heart, they're pulled to.