Pontcysyllte

Here’s juxta, new old with the now,

stretched engineering of the past,

a testament that sweeps the sky,

by granite trace, aerated rock,

hewn blocks that open up the view,

towers, though not of Babel talk

but craft and sweat, sort lightermen,

then barging through their outer space.

Know leap of years and seep of tears -

those fallen, arches, scaffold frame -

mind, bridge the gap, this gateway track,

tell ford not useless in this vale.

Dee stack of story, labour plunged,

workforce, the most beautiful cruel.