7 April ( the bridge )

stood there alone most of the winter,

winded.

now we  have bones of snow,

and sun.

the bridge has visitors,  men who fish,

ladies that chat, couples.

they do not know of the photograph tree,

or the wild wood.

we crash away, to  find our space, again.

©sbm

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/bridge/

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