The Covered Bridge
It was a welcoming bench, it said come sit
Lean back, relax, unwind
Long in length, with edges smooth
And rustically designed
The wide plank wood, soft and weathered
Showed signs of former paint
Yet despite the knots and beaten planks
It was beckoning and quaint
A simple sign hung from the arm
That said, “Bench Not For Sale”
When I inquired as to why
I heard a lovely tale
Of travelers passing and barefoot kids
And shelter from the storm
Star-crossed lovers holding hands
First kisses soft and warm
A meeting place and fishing spot
Just yonder by the ridge
This bench is all of what remains
From the old covered bridge.
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