Twenty-three peeling columns prove the eerie beauty of decay
Their cast iron capitals serving as antique pots for wild flora
Twenty-three rooms, the roof and walls are all long gone today
Its wooden heart was destroyed but not its majestic aura.
Windsor Ruins is shrouded by trees where cotton grew before
Its stucco columns are still full of slave bricks breaking out
It was built just in time to see the Old South ruined by war
The crust of civilization crumbles just like the facades we t