The Builders Poem by jan hansen

The builders

At the end of the avenue stood a big, white residence
with a splendid garden with trees and flowers
Generations of titled people had visited this house even
it is said; the king of Portugal
Time changes even great families die out and the house
was left to its own device and the garden a paradise for
Cats and rats
The builders, slayers of old beauty, punched; bought
the building from a distant cousin who moved to Alentejo
bought horses, his dream of being a cowboy fulfilled
The house and the once splendid garden and set to work
From the ruin of the past, an apartment building arose
a luxury one with a quarter for the maid.
That, my friend, is how everything ends, if not of great value
The loveliness of the old is a memory.