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I stand beneath this crumbling bridge
An echo from the past
And ponder who has come before
A matey or a lass.
Did they cross this bridge
With hopes held high
With dreams of far off lands
A soldier on his way to war
Two lovers hand in hand.
I stand beneath this crumbling bridge
It’s brackets Worn and old,
It seems to bow before me,
It’s secrets still untold.
Standing still I faintly hear
A whisper or the wind,
Maybe those who’ve gone before
Are coming home again.
I stand beneath this crumbling bridge,
Drinking in its glory,
And if I listen closely,
I hear it’s untold story.

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2 thoughts on “Untold Stories

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