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.