The dying of the empty street,
With yet the flag that grimly waves:
The short success, the long defeat.
The bricks were laid, and eaves made neat:
So soon to see, these same enclaves
The dying of the empty street.
Each ledger, and each balance sheet,
Once-busy stores that turned to caves,
(The short success, the long defeat)
Of nails and screws in size complete,
Of two-by-fours and barrel staves
(Now dying is the empty street)
An ever smile, never cheat,
For all who pass these architraves —
Still short success, then long defeat.
Why do I mourn the obsolete?
I’m one who sees, not one who saves —
The dying of the empty street:
The short success