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Of Old: A Sonnet For New Orleans
A bridge lay weak upon a broken town,
Where steam once was from mills some years ago.
A sea of blue had come, in which it drowned,
And nothing’s equal, save despair and woe.
In past the times could be considered tough,
Her back had bent just as a whale bends hers.
But now she’s split and cowed, she’s had enough;
She hopes that this will not again occur.
A hope, a hint---they can be heard in nights
When crazy Roy is at the bridge’s side.
A sax is played, like boys who run their kites,
And Roy with drink is laughing at the tide.
The notes rise up to live and die alone,
Yet all become a chorus of unknown.