Every day, a photograph, a poem.
Today I noticed the bridgework of concrete on our walk, a bridge built in the 1930s and still standing. We sometimes forget the workmanship of such things because of the other things that irritate us, like the crumbling curb from the chemicals on the road to melt the snow. Hence, today’s poetry.
Workmanship we pass
without a nod to such skill;
the worn out we see.Sheri Edwards
Poetry / Photography
Geeky Gramma ~~
Retired Middle School Language Arts/Media Teacher ~~
Writer and Thinker~~
Art from the Heart