The Incumbent Poem by Ernestine Northover

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.