In terraced ranks
of brick and slate
they stand in rows
and wait their fate.

The street lies in
abandoned zones
deserted now
the cobbled stones.

And all that’s seen
on darkest nights
the distant red
of rear tail lights.

By day exposed
as light breaks through
a barren land
a desolate view.

An empty scape
where bleak wind blows
where buddleia
and nettle grows.

Where rotting wood
and old tin sheets
and bricks and rubble
lie in heaps.

In terraced ranks
of brick and slate
they stand in rows
and wait their fate.

.

Words expressed in sympathy
will not abate her suffering
nor ever thaw the frost sharp fear
which freezes empty souls.

No principles, no sacred laws,
no vestal fires to clear her woes
will ever ease her broken heart
in these her slipper years.

Impartial hands of death when served
will bear their own supremacy
and for eternity she’ll play
upon Athena’s  flute