The Golden Gate Bridge

the barren plains with golden sand

sweeping softly against the earth

the wind whispers across the land

as if waiting for rebirth

all over lie the bright orange rust

as bright as the sun

covering the half buried bridge with dust

with the past whispers of the guns

in the past it stood proud and tall

with the sun reflecting on its beams

yet now it does not glimmer at all

and the now rough surface no longer gleams

and after all, we returned to the old ways

for mother nature always stays