Old Bridges Torn Down

They lie asleep With no wheels ajar-- No turning of the sky Awaits their doom. Rusty is the color Of the painted steel. Long lost to beauty But yet a certain charm Reveals them to pleasure Of the eye. Born to support more than Their own; lofty it seems Above the roiling water. Old bridge-wood knew Rolls and rolls, uneven Tires and spikes of steel. Have you heard the rattling Of the bridge through time And times evolution being More than clock? Walk no more here Where paths no longer cross, And barefoot boys No longer fish with worms. A certain flood came down Muddy and swirling, Logs afloat and rolling, Bumping like friends. Such dents appeared as to Surprise the passerby Who appraised the steel And rubbed the wood. The river was raging, raging. Time was passing, passing, Rolling with a certain humility Toward uncertain breathing. They plucked the planks And cut the steel with fire. They hauled away the years And blotted out the span.