Published May 15th, 2025
by Ita Reddington
As we explored this ancient terrain with keen adventure and endless fascination, traversing through the forest floor, on uneven,
waterlogged ground, under wires, over tree stumps and passed squashed beer cans,
Avoiding cameras and security who are now the protectors of this allegedly haunted house.
Turning the corner along the iron lined fence, we saw the majestic view of Woodlawn House,
With its classical Palladian style, symmetrical grey walls on the east and left wing,
boarded up windows and cracked windowpanes, a portal for crows to fly in and out and by doing so, it remains haunted.
Looking up at the slate tiles and ceramic chimney pots, we could almost feel the warmth of the fire, as Barons sit in their tweed coats and smoke cigars,
While Baronesses dressed in long gowns take their evening stroll over the white bridge, along the river bank.
Passing outbuildings of the Gardener's cottage, Game house, Mill, Haggard, we could almost imagine the hustle
and bustle of this empire in a normal working day,
With locals working from dawn to dusk, while the Trenches look out their bay windows, surrounded by opulent furniture
and Victorian gardens with huge trees to mark their territory in their vast estate.
As we walked the old paths, we were walking through layers of history.
This haunting relic from a bygone era, now quiet and peaceful, has seen the turn of many years, the turn of heirs, the turn of countless leaves taking their final dance,
before they fall gracefully to the ground, where they are met with a warm embrace.
About the Poet
Ita Reddington resides in Galway, County Galway, Ireland.
Read the poet's biography on Ita Reddington's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Comet #5,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Dublin Poetry Magazine:
Her, She
by Emma Barry
Dublin Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
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- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
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