A Lightning Pole

Across the road from my home,

Perched atop a lightning pole,

Sits a red-tailed bird, motionless,

Patiently scanning all around.

For almost a century this pole has stood,

Bearing witness to human love and struggle,

A silent observer, as life passed by,

And stories were etched into its rusted metal.

But progress, they say, must have its way,

And so the road was extended,

The pole deemed obsolete, a hindrance,

And so it was taken away.

Now it rests in a junkyard, forgotten,

Its stories lost in the sands of time,

But I know, oh how I know,

That our glorious past rests with it in that junkyard.