The Old Orangery Poem by Christopher Tye

The Old Orangery

Once the pride of the estate,
Built in the High Georgian style,
With fine columns of Portland stone,
And thousands of shimmering panes of glass.

The citrus plants long since dead,
The heating long since cold,
Shards of glass on the ground,
As the wind cuts through empty panes.

Time wreaking havoc with an architect's vision,
As fine stone columns crumble into dust,
Where soils was once carefully tilled,
Rain pouring in through the roof.

The perils of delusions of grandeur,
So no lord of the manor since the great war,
Has managed to eat an orange,
Upon the day it was picked on his estate.

By Christopher Tye