I used to pass it on my way to school,
an eerie place with a tumbled-down fence
and gates that groaned on windy days.

Around its terraces gargoyles leered
at passers-by in stoney silence.
Ivy wrapped the house in a green cocoon
and the curtains were always drawn.

A crone lived there they said - died long ago,
but I'll swear I saw her framed by a window
dressed in crinoline and lace.

A Gainsborough lady of such exquisite beauty
she took my breath away.
Such are the fantasies of an adolescent boy
on the threshold of pubescence.

jerry hughes

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bleak-house/