London Bridge Is Finally Down
Those shrunken grey turrets throw
Their distraught shadows to the wind;
And in the grey twilight of ancient
Beinn Chìochan...
Hear you the droning sounds of
Muted pipes retreating far back and
Away.
Albert heaves upon the old grey
cairn;
When woken from his immortal sleep,
Laments beside the darkening waters
For that which, despite all its
Eternal majesty...
He knows can but never come again.
Over grey skies, glowering like the
Grey dawning,
Spanned the rainbow to briefly flicker
Before the remaining day;
But with the grey night will come the
Weeping...
And London Bridge, reduced to nought
But Her, laid finally down.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2022
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