A poem for my daughter

When they took the building out of the man,

they left glass you could eat from, his soul, a breeze,

and a spoon clinking for a toast to the century.

Many people came to where it all went down,

that solid building was destroyed so easily

it was given a switch when the sun comes on.

There was life and love and laughter in those walls,

and the time had given it's final hour where

something else had fallen, the hearts sunk away

from the dead tongue pulling the weight.

And now it's no more, imagine how you would feel

when you may have designed it and cleaned it

and put your mark on it, down to the ground

with a thud you can hear up to the heavens.

The lot goes up for sale more than an exchange

of words or ideas, it will be a patch of history

gone against any other storm or fallen grace.

The life speeds up to take the building out of the man,

like any kind of train, even this one looked the same.

-s.m.g.

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