Poezja

Walked a crooked road, steep and winding,
over shrouded hills by the bay.
Shattered buildings rose from ashes,
street cars clang their bells this day.

Towered bridges span an island,
steel ships beneath their reach.
Time stuck fast to tell a tale,
when Earth rippled through a Golden Gate.

Broken lives in long remembrance,
the kites are flying high.
It’s been decades since that monster hit, 
and The City, still whirls away . . .