Ivy Poem by June Walker

I bought a small ivy plant
and dug it into unpromising soil
above the concrete retaining wall.
It grew like fever-
curling, twisting, over the hard dirt,
tumbling down stone slabs
in tones of green.

I pruned it back in spring,
intending to dig it right out,
but those roots clenched the soil like angry fists.
I cut and cut and cut: ivy tendrils
fell like shorn locks around my feet.
No sign of green on surface soil-
I ignored the roots below- and planted
bedding slabs of red and lavender and cream.

Come winter, all the colours blew away.
Peering above the ground came cheerful
waving hands, curling like the sea's hair.

I will let it grow for now,
I will let it dream its dream.