The Builders
The builders
At the end of the avenue stood a big, white residence
with a splendid garden with trees and flowers
Generations of titled people had visited this house even
it is said; the king of Portugal
Time changes even great families die out and the house
was left to its own device and the garden a paradise for
Cats and rats
The builders, slayers of old beauty, punched; bought
the building from a distant cousin who moved to Alentejo
bought horses, his dream of being a cowboy fulfilled
The house and the once splendid garden and set to work
From the ruin of the past, an apartment building arose
a luxury one with a quarter for the maid.
That, my friend, is how everything ends, if not of great value
The loveliness of the old is a memory.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
