Ivy on Fence

The ivy has grown about your gate.
Although I pass it each morning,
I lack that courage to disturb it
and prefer to think you a lax gardener,
instead of confirming your absence.


Envy Not Thy Neighbor

The people peep into keyholes
Into parlors laden with roses
The finest china
And souvenirs from far off places
In this dim glimpse
It is too easy to imagine happiness
Dwelling like a dream
And ashamed they hurry away
Shawls or coats pulled tight
Never daring to knock on the front door
Never hearing the arguments on the second floor
Never knowing the unwashed garments piling in the laundry room
The children slamming doors and pouting
The worm-eaten peonies
That the mistress of the house sobs over
In the barren garden behind the white picket house