From The East Wing Poem by Paula M. Puddephatt

beyond those gates
and a drive that sometimes feels
as though
it will never end
that twists and turns
through trees
more trees

beyond red rhododendron bushes
lies the house
vast, secretive, imposing
Manderley

and here
in the east wing
our bedroom
overlooking the rose gardens
so peaceful
tranquil
and from here
one cannot hear the sea

I do not think of
the west wing
her bedroom
their bedroom
the softness of her silk nightdress
white sand
rocks
the crashing waves
a cottage in the cove

from here
one cannot smell the salt wind
cannot see or hear the sea