And so I came to the Bridge at Mostar
Or rather, once I might have done;
The Neretva glistened blue and sinuous
Under the burning heat of a Bosnian sun.
I remember a decade ago on the news
I saw the Bridge blown into the sky;
I saw people watching it from the banks;
I saw men and women cry.
And now I came to the edge of the River
And saw the ends of the bridge - broken stumps,
Twisted rock and broken metal,
Trees growing from the ends in ragged clumps.
So I mop my brow whilst the Muezzin calls
And I remember what once was done;
Death and destruction rained down on the City
And the great Bridge died under the Bosnian sun.
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