Crossing bridges

 The railway embankment rises

From behind the gardens of the estate

A long corridor of brambles and green leaves

The pale, pastel barks of the Ash saplings

That still sprout and grow vigorously

Goldfinch carousel about the branches

Each limb is like a path to another town

Another bud is ready to burst into life

But now waits in earnest expectation

Of the spring

Biding its time

On the Strawberry line

I am conflicted, in two minds

Because on the one hand we are bringing

access to the countryside, linking up

the hubs and nodes like a network

Of underground roots

And on the other these natural corridors

will inevitably be somewhat diminished

By the human wish to spread its own branches

To feed its own systems of growth

And repair its own faulty pathways - the roads

Industrial, smoke breathing cars

That flash and wizz past the parapet of the 

Once-bridge below

They will resurrect this bridge back from the grave,

And like an old giant remembering

Something of the spirit of the railways

Will come alive again

As people will walk their dogs along it

Will cycle their bring-a-bring bikes

and maybe the hedgehogs and squirrels

And scurrying things, will likewise

Cross the bridge and discover new worlds

beyond the boundary of the road