At the Footbridge
At the footbridge over Crosswicks Creek
My parents met mid-span
He smiled at her, she shyly blushed
And a great love story began.
Daddy wasn't big on church affairs,
Mom a hippy from foot to head.
It seemed a natural choice, therefore
When at the footbridge they happily wed.
At the footbridge, my dad and me
Would fish for sunnies and trout
And watch the bushes that lined the creek
As mom berry-picked in and out.
And at the footbridge we stood and wept
When my daddy was called up to war.
We waved good-bye as he walked across
With his future and ours so unsure.
Mom and I walked the footbridge everyday
In eager anticipation
Returning home at the depth of night
Bathed in tears of fearful frustration.
For two years the footbridge was void of joy
Of family, love and laughter
No fish were reeled in from its rail,
No berries enjoyed after.
Then one gray day we began our trek
Hopes lower than the creek
And saw in the distance, at the footbridge edge
Everything we could ever seek!
At the footbridge over Crosswicks Creek
My parents met mid-span.
He smiled at her, she shyly blushed
As the three of us joined hands.
Copyright © Cindi Rockwell | Year Posted 2016
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