An alabaster ceiling rose is ever so delicate,
a round swirling pattern that is a joy to look at.
It used to be white but now it’s all yellow
with centuries of grime and age old smoke.
People stop and wonder what went on under
the hanging lights, what was said, who loved
who and who dared to dance close.
Today the huge dance hall is empty
and the ceiling rose and lights have nothing
but a sound of silence for company.