by Laura Weck
These hallowed walls, decked out
Now as if for Christmas in reds and greens
That cloak a claret brick mantelpiece,
As their famous vines
Glisten with morning frost
In October at the Friendly Confines.
Nary a cheer now from the crowd you’ll hear
Though it’s been common in recent years
As ghostly winds subtly furl the leaves
Like a brilliant flag, but
Put away are team cleats and duffle bags.
Like an army, the ivy clings to its ramparts
As though to hold off the
Approaching cold and likely snow
That will blanket the park and
Blot everything out in complete and eventual dark.