rotten...

The wooden bridge spanned there...

Connecting that old road across the banks...

Young but obsolete in design, faded to memories, forgotten...

Watching its contemporary kins fulfilling their calling...

Evaluating the purpose of its own existence...

It’s too late to revive those wooden boards and stands...

Attempts to give it more support went vein...

Those aiding bases gave the inner termites more to feed upon...

Gave them more reason to get obese and weaken its strength...

Adding dead weight to what it remains of once a glorious span...

Praying even for a nomad or a loner to cross over it...

Just to remember its role in the world...

To go back to those old days, at least in its memoirs...

But none came... none heard its weak creaks...

Can’t even collapse on its own without a big blow...

It spanned there... weakened... rotting away of termites...

Dreaming of redemption....