Running and laughing through wind weathered halls,
Beautiful image to those who remember,
Dancing and singing to drips as rain falls.
A palace to bats and brown mice in December.
Her ramparts are leaking and battered with age,
and windows are broken and shattered by hail.
Her glory did pass when she stepped from the stage,
And neglected remains where ghosts alone wail.
Will somebody save her from ruin and decay?
How can she endure the decades alone?
Will some loyal soul return here to play?
When will they polish the vine covered stone?
Her stairs coil about like a serpent relaxing,
And lead to the balcony high in the air.
Halls have been swept by a bureaucrat’s taxing,
The garden’s neglected and given no care.
The wrecking ball swings to bash in her walls,
The bulldozer growls to eat her foundations,
To build one of those convenience malls,
To pay off the debts of her maker’s relations.