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I died many years ago, here, on this roofed bridge ...
Oh, how many years is no matter - they always pass like
Days to me now. You see, eternity makes such things
Moot - such considerations blow like smoke in the wind,

But there were not the motored buggies of today. I rested
My carriage horses here once in a storm. They did not like
The lightning, you see, so we sheltered here for most of
The storm. The covered bridge appeared just in time, just

As the thunder was at it's worst, (I assumed it was God's
Blessing). My horses calmed right away, and I enjoyed the
Sound of rain on the roof. It was quite relaxing, actually,
And it had been a long day for me at the mines, loading

And shoveling, trying to keep up our quota ... that all 
Seems a dream now, so long go ... I always loved thunder-
Storms, you see, so I didn't push the horses to move on,
But thought it better we wait it out thus, and it was lovely,

The flashes of light on the river! But a bolt hit too close,
Where hay had been placed as a rest stop for horses, and
The old, dry wood of the bridge went up quickly ... oh,
Don't fret for me, I lived a full life, and no close family to

Shed tears for me ... some good friends, yes, and even a
Woman I loved but never married, but I had a blessed life,
All-in-all, full of joy and many experiences. If you DO drop
A tear or two, do so for my horses, for they were special,

Indeed, and they died poorly, burning like that ... had I
Known the fire would trap us there so surely and quickly,
I would have shot them before they burned. But it all
Happened too fast, you see. Poor, good horses, I loved

Them deeply, and they served me well. Oh, how I wish their
Spirits roamed here with mine to pass the time! But no,
This is my haunt alone now ... oh, it is a beautiful place to
Remain, and the warm Summers bring children to the rope

Swing, young adults that park at night for romance, fisher-
Men, the farm nearby, there is much for me to watch. Still,
The winters are long and lonely, and even an old ghost like
Me gets care-worn at times, but the bridge itself is a faithful

Old friend of sorts, (though it was not rebuilt with the same
Quality). I wonder sometimes if I will remain after it is gone,
Or if, in the final passing of the covered bridge, I will finally
Be free to enter oblivion ... there must still be room there

For a weary old phantom like me.
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