And it fits no more...
A gentle mound on a hill,
A slight crevice and a creek,
A canopy of hope and a grill of despair,
Sprawling across, bold yet meek.
The tint of glass mirroring the green,
A hint of white gleaming in sunlight,
A gentle rise, the form so pure!
It sits and how, fits in its site.
Time does pass, ever so swiftly,
And it ages, yet full of yore,
But a moment later, a shift in shade,
The green is green no more.
The land divided, the pieces sold,
the city is rising, replacing the old.
In the blink of an eye, the world has changed,
It feels cramped and dwarfed,
The glass reflects a murky grey,
The white, pearl shine has morphed.
The house in front blocks the light,
The wall hides the door,
Though it sits where it used to sit,
it doesn’t fit no more,
It wants to scream, it wants to shout,
For things to be the same,
But it just waits, dead, silent,
After all, whom can it blame?
No comments:
Post a Comment