Flying across an untouched ridge,
looking down at a silent bridge,
observing the rushing river below,
sanding stones ever so thorough.
Flowing beneath the bridge it sneaks,
tormented by land it’s weakened by creeks,
trees reaching up arms touching the sky,
like a toddler too tired to walk will try.
An oasis for a flock flying south will rest,
pause for a snack, visit and jest,
geometry in action holds the bridge serene
brooking the banks of rolling green.
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