What colonial engineer Drew up plans to build you here? A bridge not worried by flooding rains, He calculated your stresses and strains. Your deck on lattice trusses sat The wrought-iron made in Ballarat; From bluestone, masons crafted piers And abutments so you'd last for years. And that you did, one can't deny Until a new bridge passed you by. So now you sit and silently wait While Nature slowly seals your fate. And though they still make claims for you With words like historic and technical, too Your significance appears to be slipping away Another victim of progress, they say.
© Jim Low
Read the article, From Bung Bong to Lapstone Hill