In my head echo the Muir Woods
Ancient, silent, changing yes,
but at a pace no one living can see.
Creation, stately, profound, not to be moved.
Around me sounds the vast city
Ever new, abounding in cacophony,
shifting constantly, as often as stocks rise and fall,
a babel, imposing and imposed, never still.
Between the two . . .
It is no simple easy
to build a bridge.
Ask Washington Roebling.