Little Old Factory

Little old factory, with a tired-slumped back 

wearing weary spectacles of chocolate glass. 

You were the first, manufacturer-class 

and now your cars' headlights have cataracts. 

But you're still standing, with a cane in hand 

(That's the renovation, going on as planned.) 

And your children visit you, and their grandchildren too. 

apparently now you're a museum, who knew? 

So you're standing alright, little dust on your roof

put on your nicest flannel, and button it through. 

I'll take your hand, so wired with veins 

(the electricity goes on and off again) 

 and I'll walk with you, as you did for me 

And when your memory fails, I'll help to teach 

(that's why we write down history)  

(We all have our own Little Old Factories.)