I, a distressed bridge sit alone,
Long since memories leave their shadows,
Of steam and hissing engineers traveling on my back.
In days when I could support the safe transport of goods,
And people to a safe destination.
Now I am the terminus. The end of the line.
Unable to carry the loads of my past,
With the strength of an arm well-built.
As muscles fade into the background, gradually.
Yet, still we can stop and talk … as needed.