Like clouds of fancy on Time’s canvass hangs
A solitary shape in ivy’s firm embrace.
Draped in a veil of dull green stands
As bricks and plasters fall off its face,
A spectral figure in a desolate land.
Centuries like the shifting climes have passed,
The voices, the faces, the pomp, the glory,
All into the great void journeyed at last.
Leaving this relic of bricks and many a story
For a bard’s pen, before turning to dust.
Decay and death touches all unhindered,
Footprints remain, when the essence is gone.
“Where are they?”, in my heart,I wonder,
The world revolves and pages turn.
“Is this moment,Real?”, I ponder
Seeing altered beauty, all faded and worn.