Building bridges is all well and good.
But now I stand on my carefully constructed arch.
I’ve posted signs with arrows:
This way! Cross the river here!
And I wait. Day turns to night turns back to day.
No travelers approach; no farmers with laden carts;
Not even a wandering dog.
My bridge becomes a meaningless edifice,
Born of futile hopes for utility and community aid.
I spent a considerable portion of life’s time and energy
To its design, placement, and function.
Sadly I arise, glance backwards once, and depart.
Perhaps someday someone will find it of use.
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