Monday, August 03, 2020

The Ship

In two thousand eighteen,
The Morandi bridge fell,
Once thought Italy's engineering gem,
Forty-three people killed,

Amidst the rubble and Covid nineteen,
A new bridge took its place,
Architect Renzo Piano made it,
Combining modernity, strength and grace,

Sweeping like a ship across Genoa's,
Polcevera River,
May it last much more than the fifty years,
Of its predecessor,
Oh, and let's not,
Let Benetton steward,
This bridge and be its own inspector, too.
Before the last one, that would be absurd.

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