Few, driving past it, notice the old iron bridge.
It’s fallen into disrepair after all these years.
But my 80-year-old neighbor remembers
when a road crossed it, leading to the school.
Once a saw mill, a grist mill, houses and stables
lined the creek here. The man who built them
bought fifteen acres of land for $1200.
Lives as real and dramatic as ours,
come and gone. Pay attention.
Notice the remnants of what was. Cherish
the reality of this swiftly passing world.
A future most can’t even imagine
is quickly gobbling us up.