As I stand 'neath the cracks <br />Where the dandelions cling <br />To the bridge as the water lies still, <br />In the shade of its arch <br />On the old cobbled path <br />Where the bricks yield a cavernous chill. <br /> <br />And I hear there the drum <br />Of the raindrops that fall <br />And see puddles that form on the ground, <br />Till the sunlight breaks through <br />That unshakable mass <br />And does shine on the land all around. <br /> <br />As I stare from the arch <br />At the pasture beyond <br />Where the cattle so peacefully graze, <br />In the field through the hedge <br />Where the blossom does hang <br />On the hawthorn in bounteous displays. <br /> <br />As the stormy clouds pass <br />On the winds that do blow <br />Through the branches and boughs it does wend, <br />I still wait 'neath the bridge <br />Where the dandelions cling <br />And I watch as the raindrops descend.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-bridge-where-the-dandelions-cling/
