Dry leaves waft in the lengthening shadows of day
As I gaze at the moss, the cracks
and the walls that have all turned gray.
Here in the morass of glimmers of past
The rust on the shutters of long-locked shops
Have fused with the layers of dust.
The hoardings are down, the neon lights gone
The flags and the festoons are vanished or torn.
No crowd no light no cheer from a herd
Under these roofs will be seen or heard.
Only the walls, splintered and peeled
Will stand and witness the weather worn streets
And mourn what is missing and lost.
Such too are scenes you might find
In some human ties that bind.