Hot House

The hot house once blossomed with color and hue,

Bright with the sun as it went streaming through.

The yellow of warmth is now run away

And the winter has come with its icy bouquet.

Now the panes are all broken where beauty once grew,

And now cold are the dead where the winter winds blew.

Now the long white rain freezes, gathering gray,

And the building is fallen to death and decay.