What Once Fell

Six white towers, at a glance
once I caught their spritely dance.
Windy towers, six stood they
last year blooming, gone today.

Upon the meadow, upon the hill
where once they full the azure filled.
All fair flowers, fields of green
have faded to a hollow scene.

Ribbed and ravaged, wrecked the ground
heaped in piles bricked and bound.
There now sits a building's shell
where once the towers dying fell.

Where the Sparrows, fond and feathered?
Where their homes of branches weathered?
What of those on morning's brow
who made a harp of each fair bough?

And what to fill the azure blue
where snow white sails and flowers flew?
Nothing short of April's loom
dare could weave that barren womb.

Weave and wake if just the three,
as those who crested Calvary.
Raise the wooden three fine masts,
to snow white sails and shadows cast!

In days and places, distant all,
I sorrowed each shall oft recall,
what once stood and what once fell,
without a sound or sweet farewell.