Ironbridge

~

visitors to Coalbrookdale

now stroll idly by inquisitively

peering into gift shops,

where busy flat-capped workers 

once scurried up the hill

to clock-on,

today the mighty river Severn 

is a languid tourist too, 

a redundant milked tea hued

serpent, on which yesteryear’s

heavily laden barges once 

plied a global trade,

the old steam rails now hide

beneath a verdant footpath,

and the rust-red skeletal bridge

that gave this place its name,

still proudly spans the gorge

iron legs akimbo like a

schoolboy intent on

catching sticklebacks,

whilst a resigned sadness

clothes this tiny place

its pride shines through

and if the solid buildings

could talk they would shout

‘we made stuff here’

*

© Graham R Sherwood 06/25