Ballad Of The Silver Bridge Poem by L MILTON HANKINS

Where strong and sturdy currents flowed
In rhythms like the march,
There stood majestic girders
In a towering silver arch.

With pride, the span was erected
Above the swollen run,
Where it caught infrequent glances
From a feeble winter sun.

The currents seldom paused below
To give the bridge a care;
But through the years they granted
Its lumbering presence there.

It shuddered at the heavy loads
That strained its cabled line;
It trembled when the monstrous rigs
Crept hard across its spine.

Then pushed to utter exhaustion
By the crowded holiday,
The bridge exhaled its final sigh
And vanished clean away.

The river moans a painful dirge
For cold and still and dead
Beneath the phantom silver bridge,
The gushing flood is red.

Gurgling, whimpering, lapping near
The feet of those who wait;
The waters pen a ballad on
The cruelty of fate.