Ruins

Crumbling battlements against a stormy sky,
The gaping hole where once there hung a door.
Hoarse cawing of rooks as homeward they fly
To nest in the deserted towers.

What was once the proud seat of a high blooded king
Is now a lonely ruin, deserted
By all save the bats and birds of the wing.
It is now an abode filled with ghosts.

The people of an ancient, forgotten time
Inhabit its mouldering halls of gloom.
The skilled voice of a bard chanting his rhyme,
The spectral melody of his harp.

The clammy walls of a somber banqueting hall
Now echo with the ghostly talk and jests
Of a noble company who were all
Lords and ladies of highest degree.

There once were rushes strewn thickly on this hard floor,
Bright tapestries adorned these barren walls,
This empty hole once framed a stout oak door...
This was once the seat of a great king.

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