Poetry Concrete (This is a link as well as a title)

In the verge, the green grass of construction,
under many bridges, where secrets lie forever,
the bones of traitors bleached a thousand years
are all remaining of those that know of jewels
and gold from one more ancient, royal house.
Their king was drowned for money,
lost his kingdom through his greed
and was swept away to this,
the peaceful flatland of his family.