Old iron gate, so tall and skeletal, what has happened to your leaves? Wrought and twisted ivy green that curved elegantly to your slender shape has withered away to sick yellow and feverish orange yet you still stand tall, supporting the vines, but only as such; your could touch does nothing to soothe them from autumn's icy breath. They cling to you, sway softly against you as they so often did those balmy sweet summer days. They are merely adornments to you. They get sick and die, but you… You live on forever

Forever in the rain,

Forever in the snow,

Forever in the sun,

Forever under the stars,

Ivy grows back, this is for certain.

But if an iron heart remains shut,

It will only ever be an old iron gate.