Pim Claridge

Life in the Scottish Borders, one stanza at a time

Ponte Sant ‘Angelo

Four pale stone arcs dip to meet their image
mirrored in the darkening depths below,
where waiting angels along the bridge
shine high above the sleepy waters-flow.
With graceful wings unfurled for flight, they wait
as darkness falls and softens chisel lines
that trace the curls, and each hewn line of face.
The traffic stills, as daylight soaks away
dropping an eerie silence in the lamplight
and stone heads are bowed, and stone hands pray,
that grief and sorrow be put to flight
and banished, as the dawning sky brings day

but one angel’s face is lifted, smiling
as his wings of stone grow tired of waiting!