Miss Diana

Image : http://www.flickr.com

Dear Liberty, Liberty, Liberty dear,

It has been many a year

Since last our paths were parted.

In case you forget, I was the spec

That topped a building forgotten.

Madison Garden on the Square,

I was the weathervane fair

Diana. Do you remember?

-

If not I must object.

Because our acquaintance was set

by what was his name, Henry O. or

Was it O. Henry?

-

He was a clever gent

To recognize the bond between

Two metal maidens

As we stood and adorned

Gotham of old.

-

I, by chance, the other day

Met a visitor,

Who had a post card

Of you guarding still

The gates to the Republic.

-

I am sorry I forgot you,

And apparently you me,

Over these many decades.

-

It is true they tore down the Garden

And my fate was likely to follow

In similar manner.

The island Manhattan has

Different standards for structures

Than the island on which you dwell.

-

My fate, the fate of fame

Was lost on a scrap heap

Till one day a friend did buy

For the value of scrap, me

For thirty and eight dollars.

Deflated was my ego, but still,

Twas better than being

Melted down to solder.

-

I dread to think

What value your copper sheath

Would bring on the scales of barter.

We lofty few must preserve

Our sight from mortal schemes

Not worthy of our station in life.

-

My journey from Gotham of old

Has landed me in a splendid temple

Atop Fairmount Hill

On the Champs Benjamin Franklin

In the city of brotherly love.

-

It is a marvelous change

From the cold work of weathervane.

I serve no function

Except to grace a grand hall

And stone staircase.

I have joined your ranks Liberty.

I am art or so they say.

Isn't it great to retire so late.

And find a home so Greek

As this bejeweled museum?

-

Every decade or so

There is a spat

Between some Gotham bureaucrat

And the keepers of my present home.

They say my home is Gotham.

Though in truth it is Olympus.

Home is truly where the heart is.

Here Corinthian and Ionic,

Not purely mixed,

Houses my metal frame.

-

Out the window

Across the way

I have found a new friend.

His name is William, William Penn.

He is made of bronze.

No sterner stuff

Are men made of these days.

-

He is shorter than you in fact

But higher than you he dwells.

No stone tower here is taller than he

As he stares in disbelief

Toward dear Gotham Town,

On a building French

That you would adore.

He is refined but a little bit dull.

His upper lip is stiff.

-

I miss your French ways

Seen through the haze

Of fine ocean mists past.

-

We must get together soon,

We metal folk,

For a grand old bash so bold.

-

Now I must finish.

The doors are about to admit

The lovers of art.

I know my part,

Same as you.

-

Please write. See you

soon?

How is O. Henry?

Love,

Miss Diana.