Now So Few Left

The muddy snow that leaks into the streets
And chilly wind that whips into the face
Are all I have as company right now
As I come to this old forgotten place

I do not know what once it might have been;
Not why, nor when ’twas built, nor yet by whom —
I only know it now, in this estate,
A broken-down, and frigid sort of tomb

That only has two walls left of its four,
Immodestly exposing its backside
Like it was clad in a hospital gown,
To drain the last few drops of long-dead pride

Now so few left who knew it, when, in fact
It still had all its dignity

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Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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