March
      25,
      1997
      Pact
      anne
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      A
      bridge
      so
      far
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Atevening
     
    

    
     
      Ithangs
     
    

    
     
      Like
      a
      string
      of
      diamonds
     
     
      On
      the
      flushed
      neck
     
    

    
     
      Of
      distant
      western
      sky.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Then
      at
      dawn
     
    

    
     
      It
      stretches
     
    

    
     
      Spindly
      and
      grey,
     
    

    
     
      As
      if
      some
      giant
      spider
     
     
      Had
      begun
      her
      web
     
     
      Andnever
      finished.
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      But
      come
      closer
      now;
     
    

    
     
      View
      the
      handiwork
     
    

    
     
      Of
      strength,
      symmetry,
      and
      precision
     
     
      Fabricated
      in
      an
      open
      womb
     
    

    
     
      By
      Human
      genius.
     
    

    
     
      A
      bridge
      to
      link
     
    

    
     
      An
      island
      with
      her
      neighbours.
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
        
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
        
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
        
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Prophets
      of
      doom
     
    

    
     
      Cry
      that
      here
      we
      have
     
     
      Progress
      in
      reverse.
     
     
      Surely
      a
      gentle
      way
      of
      life
     
     
      Will
      wither
      and
      die.
     
    

    
     
      And
      as
      in
      ancient
      rhyme
     
     
      Of
      London
      Bridge
     
    

    
     
      All
      will
      tumble
      down.
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      But
      seers
      who
      view
     
     
      This
      engineering
      feat
     
     
      With
      hope
      and
      favour
     
     
      Cry
      that
      here
      indeed
     
     
      Is
      the
      epitome
      :
     
     
      Of
      modern
      Progress.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Away
      with
      trains
      and
      boats!
     
     
      Freedom
      now
     
    

    
     
      to
      come
      and
      go.
     
    

    
     
      Truck
      and
      trade
     
    

    
     
      Will
      prosper
      more
     
    

    
     
      Than
      those
      with
     
    

    
     
      Shorter
      sight
     
    

    
     
      Could
      possible
      envision.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Buy
      yet,
      not
      doubt,
     
    

    
     
      Some
      wary
      travellers
     
    

    
     
      Will
      view
      this
      chain
     
    

    
     
      Of
      concrete
      monoliths
     
    

    
     
      As
      frail
      and
      weak
     
    

    
     
      Against
      the
      power
     
    

    
     
      Of
      Neptune’s
      lashing
      waves.
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
     
       
     
     
        
         
     
     
         
     
     
        
       
     
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      _
      And
      as
      always,
     
     
      Relentless
      Master
      Time
     
     
      Will
      judge
      the
      merits
     
    

    
     
      Of
      a
      bridge
      so
      far.
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
     
         
     
    
   
   
    
     
      -
      Gladys
      McIntyre