Scranton Lace

All good things come to an end only to find a new beginning.

From the beauty of the lace makers to the hands of the clock makers.

Time is what you make of it.

The mill on Mylert Avenue is now silent.

For the past memories fill the air with the sounds English looms.

Hard working immigrants putting their hearts and souls into the Nottingham lace.

Known the world over, past down to their sons and daughters

Sadly cheapness has replaced true craftsmanship.

As the last door was closed those remaining reminisced of days gone by.

For the clock tower will keep watch while the captains of industry turn their heads without a care.

I wrote this poem on the last day the Scranton Lace Company closed their doors in 2002. It was a place the employed many of my family members after leaving their beloved Irish land. Not only the Irish but every immigrant who landed in New York City and then on to Scranton. I passed by this lace mill everyday going to work. Today I could not simply just pass by. I needed to stop and capture the progress of the reconstruction of this beautiful landmark. It is certainly a diamond being given new life. So with that a new poem will be written soon. But for now enjoy the photos.