Moody Lintels
This building, is it still so great ?
No masterpiece or pioneer;
And now it’s looking quite a state,
And none too safe in brick and slate –
It really ought to face its fate,
Admit the end is near.
It did it us proud, it served us well,
But now it’s really past its best;
And as its city-centre dwell
Has far more worth as bank, hotel,
Or office block – we had to sell,
In public int‘er‘est.
So down it comes, and in its place
Development beguiling new:
A fresh design this site will grace,
A source of jobs and conf’rence space;
We may yet choose to save the face,
And gut the insides through.
These architects with magic touch
That turns the golden into shite –
Their helping hand’s a concrete clutch
Which crushes, smothers eversuch
And chokes the life they hate so much,
Because it shone so bright.
And when they try to match the theme,
They cannot think along that line –
Just vague pastiche and stripped-down scheme.
Yet form must come from vein and seam
As penetrating all like steam,
And scream these forms are mine.
Their new designs cannot be stood
Besides the old, for both then wilt;
So segregate each neighbourhood,
And save the past whene’er we could
For once it’s gone, it’s gone for good –
Will never be rebuilt.
Rhyming Couplets 