Ghost Town

No one recalls who built these leaning walls And sagging roofs along this mountainside; Here silence fills the hollows of the hills, Where once the sound of laughter lived and died.

Broken and blank, the windows, rank on rank, Stare vacantly into the grass-grown lanes; No fires light their empty eyes at night, No friendly faces press against their panes.

Gold built this town that Time has tumbled down — Its glitter spilled across these crumbling beams; But when the last bright yellow grain had cast Its final sparkle, men sought other dreams.

The wind goes by as if it were a sigh; The sun spins golden coins in the air; It will not be too long before a tree Hides each faint mark that Man was ever there.