Tower of London

Gedicht zum Thema Stadt

von  Rebekka

Once built by a Norman Duke
its white stones shined brightly.
Accompanied with rave’s rebuke,
prisoners suffered quietly.

Soon a symbol for British Royalty
its white stones shook in the night.
The rave’s superstition put out helplessly,
when peasants demand their rights.

Now decades are long gone,
its white stones don’t shine no more.
And the raves watch with scorn,
when tourists gawp without any awe.

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