The Gherkin stands, abandoned, alone.
The metal foundations always creak and groan.
Looming over all buildings there,
There in old London, lost in despair.
The ungrateful time has truly been cruel.
Used to be filled with guests, now who’ll
Enter the hallowed halls, all smashed,
And look at the wreckage, all hopes of wonder dashed.
A husk and a wreck of what it was before,
All interest gone, it looks a bore.
The Gherkin now looks like a well-chewed pickle,
The water of its life is now no more than a trickle.
The silver windows, the dark blue walls,
Under the menace of time, even all things great must fall.
The Gherkin ruined by apathy and time,
Covered in a layer of dirt and grime.
Now we gaze, struck dumb with grief,
The livelihood of a landmark, stolen by Time the thief.
Now we look, at what cruel time has bred,
All happiness gone, the Gherkin is dead.