666

Carefully did she choose
Where her feet would gain further ground,
Each step an extension of the idea
Behind the symbolical trumpet.

Behind her, closely, a growing trail of golden flames,
Ready to consume the bridge, that was just being crossed
By her who commands both dawn and dusk, in its entirety,
Leaving but a skeleton of stone.

Upon reaching the end said bridge, now groaning
Under the pressure of impending death, she turns her head
For one last view of, not the piece of work that is about
To face its certain end, but the land that lies behind it,
And for just one second
A gleam of content flashes up in her eyes.

And so she marches on.