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.