An old wall stands
lichen covered and overgrown
with couch grass and ivy,
it's antiquity apparent
from the crumbling fragility
of stonework and lintel.
Where it meets the wooden fence
it forms a boundary between eras:
ancient Cowdray House and modern road
to the rear of which lies
inviting parkland dotted with oaks
and unmown grass beneath -
but access to it's cool shade
is denied to general public
by ornate wrought iron railings.
In this tranquil scene she sits
in maroon jeans and black sweater,
this seventeen-year-old on the wall,
gazing shyly into the camera lens.
What is her story? What does her future hold?
Does she really want to know?
Or perhaps she already senses the approaching tempest,
so is clinging to that fleeting carefree stage of her life
with all her heart and Soul.
I am inextricably bonded to this strange little creature.
I long to know what she's thinking...but,
sadly, I can no longer recall.