Across A Covered Bridge


The road is paved now-
time past it was all dirt and gravel
tamped down by pounds of heavy
horseflesh, sturdy and shod.


Stone walls on either side
disappear into the water below
where the rocks were buffed
smooth by years of meandering currents.


Hard to say, exactly, what color
red that it's painted. If I were to
venture a guess, I'd have to say,
'rusty barn crimson.'


A little white shingle of oak, maybe
poplar, that hangs above, right in
the center, simply states the year
it was built- 1846.


That's sure a lotta years gone now
and many passes to and fro, from one
side to the other have left the
planks well traveled and worn.


But still, she stands there, allowing
passage to those who come upon
her and need to make use of her
convienance, lest they ford the water.


Inside, its much dimmer where only
shadowy light filters through her
rectangular shaped windows that
flank her left and right.


And if you listen really hard,
you can hear her long ago echos
which she keeps stored in her
ample beams, high overhead.


That steady, 'clip-clop, clip-clop,
clip-clop' of iron footwear
from those who went long before,
...across a covered bridge.


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