Somewhere along the road
along those dirty canals,
sat a wretched soul;
a lovely bird
her wings broken,
her eyes swollen.
From the time the world arose
to the time it slept
She sat there singing
a crude song;
a song of her bygone;
an extinct beauty.
The city changed,
The grey monsters soared up
and so did the spot of lights.
These lights burned the spirit out;
a spirit that had lifted each and every heart,
a spirit that destroyed fear.
The spirit of a heroic yesterday.
Where did it go? She sang
The spirit of the heroic past!
I wait and wait
to get a glimpse
of this museum piece
and struggling
to move aside the jeering masks.
But there she sits
On her usual leafless tree
looking into the growing mist
into these million her….
who mouthed the same song along.
spottypotterson 