Ivy

by David Subacchi

Slowly it crept up from the drain,
Spiny fingers feeling out cracks
In the crumbling stone wall
That blocked daylight
From the rear of our home.

Tantalisingly it displayed
Green and yellow flowers
With small petals,
Fruit ripening from late winter
Into mid spring.

Hungrily birds dispensed its seed,
Gobbling berries,
Joined by the ivy bee
That exists only
For this purpose.

And when fearful of collapse
We tore away
The winding water supply,
It clung even tighter
To the dark surface

Desperate to survive,
Indignant at our ignorance
Of its ecological
Importance.
Protesting innocence.