The chilly autumn air bites at stale dust
old oak door, the world forgotten and lost
crisp gusts of icy wind meet marble must
inside calm fights against odd outside frost
 
stories once told of a bright knowledge spring
long since faded to a dim winter lone
clocktower ticks on, rusty bell chimes ring
the last of cold monuments etched in stone
 
all that’s left are ghosts, books with worn down spines
skewed and scattered pages tattered and torn
silence sings loud, no one to hear the signs
echo in the walls, siren song forlorn
 
mice skitter about, a bird calls in fright
stained glass palace lost the last of its light