Once a Nation
The factories and the mills are all gone
Empty buildings everywhere.
That once were filled with a cacophony of noise,
And people working hour after hour,
Slaves to the time keeper’s clock,
Until the hour comes to lay down the tools,
And silence the machines.
When the next shift is summoned by the whistle,
That never again did sound.
Silence fills the empty buildings,
Bereft of life other than that of the rats,
As they scurry about over machines,
Slowly rusting away soon to become nothing more than a pile of scrap.
The workers have all gone
And the future seems almost futile,
Their pride banished
By the stroke of the bankers pen.
Copyright © 2017 John Meehan