Претендентки

In yonder glade where shadows play,
A curious sight stands lone today,
A booth of old, a relic grand,
Now serves a purpose, odd and planned.

Once calls were made, the world was told,
Of news and tales both young and old,
But now it holds a throne of white,
Amidst the trees, in soft moonlight.

O grand old booth, your tales have turned,
From words to whispers, lives adjourned,
Yet still you stand with regal grace,
A relic of a different place.

Through misty woods and forest air,
You bring a charm beyond compare,
A telephone, a throne combined,
In nature’s arms, your fate resigned.

So let the trees and leaves entwine,
Around your form, a scene divine,
For in your stance, both proud and bold,
A story of the past is told.