Crossing a Bridge

It is no struggle now to cross the bridge
Where the gruesome concrete structure stands.
No wild uneven rocks push back against the bogy ridge
Where knarled and unskilled hands

Made the crossing safe two centauries or more ago
And made passable the track for pigs and sheep and cattle
Through bitter wind , rain and sloughed snow ;
Each crossing a weary and worrisome battle .

Her broken wracked and splintered boulders
Lie mourning in the stream as unrewarded memories
Of the once stout and twisted shoulders
Which fashioned them with granite rock and crude emeries

A double glazed house, like a Hollywood hacienda now proudly stands
With two triumphant tinted windowed sports trucks neatly parked.
On manicured lawns like a model’s manicured hands
To champion the success they’ve each marked

And the little bridge is now more a moat
To give credence to the credit card culture
From where they can luxuriously gloat
And they their satisfied success can pleasurably measure .


I pass over and I know I trespass
On two and more generations , each an epoch apart..

But you know I’d rather wander thought this sparse grass
Aeons ago ; back when this bridge was built
With stout boulders and with solid heart.