In a land where the skies softly weep,
Stand edifices where the shadows creep.
Fore is a giant of Brutalist might,
Its concrete arms wrangling the light.

Jagged and raw, it rises untamed,
A monument that no softness has claimed.
Its layers stack with purposeful glee,
A stoic watcher, silent and free.

Beyond lies a sibling of a different skin,
Clad in red, with panes that grin.
It reflects the day, so sleek and fine,
A modern dance of line on line.

Between them lies a verdant seam,
Graced with trees, in winter's dream.
Leaves lay scattered, a carpet spun,
In the quiet pause of the absent sun.

Together they stand, so different, so bold,
A story of eras, in silence, told.
In the city's heart, they quietly bide,
Side by side, in contrasting pride.