The trees hid the house from curious passers-by,
For branches had grown thick o’er the years,
Contentment that permeated inside the walls, high,
Was now shattered by dissolution and tears.
Many were the days that the incumbent would cry,
No happiness now, just her fears.
Having been so elated, always in the public eye,
She now had to face all the jeers.
A recluse she’d become, all were trying to pry,
Callous rumours had come to her ears,
This famous star, feted, was now wary and shy,
For the newspapers had started such smears.
Something in her past, that she couldn’t deny,
Was located by some cruel scrutineers,
But if you’re in the limelight, one thing you can’t buy,
Is your privacy, that’s for cold profiteers.
Oh how well put Ernestine. The last two lines are utterly grabbing, a message in themselves. t x
Ernestine how very well put. Little secrets we would like to forget come back to haunt us if someone wants to dig deep into our past. One day someone will dig something up on the diggers and the shoe will be on the other foot. Great write my friend. Top marks from me and thanks for sharing it my friend. David
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A slice of life painted with the vivid words of Ernestine. Privacy is a realm of 'tears' and 'fears' and how little of it we possess nowadays. Susie xx.