Rothley Brook Bridge
Becoming obsessed and emotionally involved with an otherwise unremarkable stretch of concrete is undeniably daft [but] there's a purity to taking pride in something that so few people will ever recognise or understand and a joy in following in the footsteps of others.
By Rothley Brook the stangers come,
Three shadowy forms, with martial pace,
Like Phantoms of heroic race.
The clanking step, the armour's gleam
Sounds on the margin, lights the stream.
“Haul down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three.
Now who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me?”