Iron Key Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Ahhhh, there it is, that iron bridge
long missed and standing still
aglow above the rushing waters,
a golden moon suspended high,
a muslim bag turned lone balloon
the plaintiff calling of a Shepherd's mutt
cut off by the majestic sounds
of City Hall's old Bismarck clock.

I do imagine that it really tolls for me.
A subtle welcome in the bitter cold,
brought with some urgency to ears
by icy winds that taste so much the same
as I remember from a long gone youth.

Oh, it is late and citizens asleep
let us not wake the spirits here tonight.
Though nothing you or anyone can say
will keep me from the creaking oaken door.
You see, I still do have that precious iron key.