I often walk past crumbling bricks
In the shape of bridges and rotting forts
And I dream of lives that once took place
Under the shadows that covered sins
And love’s first kiss on picnic blankets.
When old and grey they do return,
Hand in hand they smile on days of youth
That disappeared some fifty years ago.
I always wonder what those bridges see;
What the dying castle ruin may have witnessed
And what will die when they are gone.