Iron Key

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.