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.