Ivy

She drew my eyes to her,

ivy of the woods.

She stood out

as a black hole of darkness

amidst the low light of Winter’s sun.

Pleasant was the air among the trees,

sun’s rays lighting

smooth and rough skin of the trees,

warming earth for the Blue Bells,

still asleep,

save only  in the middle of the woods,

among the trees,

a place where ivy profusely grows,

a great hole of darkness,

so strong that she nearly

drank thirstily

the bright light of the woods.

She drew my eyes to her,

ivy of the blessed well,

but full of light now,

wet,

on the sides of steps

going down to the blessed well,

wet, reflecting

light around a dark place

ivy, light of the blessed well.

With the grace of God, ivy

from darkness to light.

copyright Kevin Connelly 2012

Author: connellykevin

Writer, poet and photographer. Lover of all musical genres, from acoustic to zydeco. Born in Ireland of Scottish descent and proud of both. "I sought a theme and sought for it in vain, I sought it daily for six weeks or so" WB YEATS Many of the themes here presented and to be presented have taken me a lifetime rather than six weeks. Some have taken mere moments to arrive. All are offered freely and it is my hope that you, dear reader, will gain something by browsing here and that I in turn will gain something by presenting these works to you.

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