the floor was hard as it was old
master strokes adorned and spoke
of stacks and sun the flowered one
where swarthy heat was rising fast
the traces of ghosts would past
the visitors had been barred
come back later for the tour
when the pulsating beat will be complete
and the masters fell like a house
a jumbled mess of rope and dress
look see here they took but one
see here they knew nothing but
the prattle of a foreign say
we were hired once and only play
these parts upon a tiny stage
where disappear the dreams of yesteryear

nice and thanks for posting

Good Write