Like a silent russet waterfall,
caught mid stream in a moment,
redundant chains fetter the quay
their flow hobbled
by the rust that eats their bones.
There is no strength in this frozen gallop,
weakest links in ragged array,
flakes of wrought iron
calving in the salty air.
No faith now in the saintly stability,
the forged embrace of blacksmith's art,
that once in mutual grasp
held anchor in the seabed
or anchored to quayside.
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