Miss Diana (of the staircase)

Miss Diana (of the staircase) 

Dear Liberty, Liberty, Liberty dear,

It has been many a year
Since last our paths were parted.
In case you forget, I was the spec
That topped a building forgotten.
Madison Garden on the Square,
I was the weathervane fair
Diana.
Do you remember?
-
If not I must object.
Because our acquaintance was set
by what was his name, Henry O. or
Was it O. Henry?
-
He was a clever gent
To recognize the bond between
Two metal maidens
As we stood and adorned
Gotham of old.
-
I, by chance, the other day
Met a visitor,
Who had a post card
Of you guarding still
The gates to the Republic.
-
I am sorry I forgot you,
And apparently you me,
Over these many decades.
-
It is true they tore down the Garden
And my fate was likely to follow
In similar manner.
The island Manhattan has
Different standards for structures
Than the island on which you dwell.
-
My fate, the fate of fame
Was lost on a scrap heap
Till one day a friend did buy
For the value of scrap, me
For thirty and eight dollars.
Deflated was my ego, but still,
Twas better than being
Melted down to solder.
-
I dread to think
What value your copper sheath
Would bring on the scales of barter.
We lofty few must preserve
Our sight from mortal schemes
Not worthy of our station in life.
-
My journey from Gotham of old
Has landed me in a splendid temple
Atop Fairmount Hill
On the Champs Benjamin Franklin
In the city of brotherly love.
-
It is a marvelous change
From the cold work of weathervane.
I serve no function
Except to grace a grand hall
And stone staircase.
I have joined your ranks Liberty.
I am art or so they say.
Isn't it great to retire so late.
And find a home so Greek
As this bejeweled museum?
-
Every decade or so
There is a spat
Between some Gotham bureaucrat
And the keepers of my present home.
They say my home is Gotham.
Though in truth it is Olympus.
Home is truly where the heart is.
Here Corinthian and Ionic,
Not purely mixed,
Houses my metal frame.
-
Out the window
Across the way
I have found a new friend.
His name is William, William Penn.
He is made of bronze.
No sterner stuff
Are men made of these days.
-
He is shorter than you in fact
But higher than you he dwells.
No stone tower here is taller than he
As he stares in disbelief
Toward dear Gotham Town,
On a building French
That you would adore.
He is refined but a little bit dull.
His upper lip is stiff.
-
I miss your French ways
Seen through the haze
Of fine ocean mists past.
-
We must get together soon,
We metal folk,
For a grand old bash so bold.
-
Now I must finish.
The doors are about to admit
The lovers of art.
I know my part,
Same as you.
-
Please write. See you
soon?
How is O. Henry?

Love,
Miss Diana.             © 1978

There was a conversation started to or listened to by O.Henry in his short story The Lady Higher Up.

The conversation is between two famous statues in 1904 New York City. The two, the statues, of Liberty and Saint-Gaudens Diana converse on their own Olympic plane. This poem is an attempt to rekindle the conversation started by O.Henry and was written some thirty odd years ago.



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