David Weaver
gone but not forgotten
THE OLD STONE BRIDGE
By David Weaver ©
I gazed from the wall of the old stone bridge,
By David Weaver ©
I gazed from the wall of the old stone bridge,
into the river below.
Thoughts wandering back to when I was young,
just a lovesick youth full of show.
I remembered the stepping stones, waiting,
as they had for a million feet.
Someone had placed them at the time of Christ,
where the five local clans used to meet.
Now an old man looking back on my life,
I see more than the ferny rocks.
Not only the river all crystal clear,
but a girl with the auburn locks.
She stood mid stream on the largest stone,
and waved for her lover to see.
He standing there on the old stone bridge,
for the lover she waved to, was me.
Her lovely sweet face, a sad gentle smile,
I see it as if it’s today.
Crossed half of the stones to meet her,
kissed without one word to say.
We walked together towards the near bank,
wild primroses flanking its path.
Lay in the sun as lovers will do,
planning for days now long past.
Does she remember those times long ago,
when true love was doomed to failure?
For she met a man with a big red car,
after I’d run away to Australia.
