The Old Covered Bridge

When I was ten I got a bike one Christmas I learned to ride that morning, though the snow was several inches on the ground Though the gravel road was hard to ride, it was straight and full of silence; And me and my new bike were instant friends; I knew that somewhere down that road we'd find the old covered bridge... It was long & tall and stood so proud, for it carried many souls, My granddad helped to build it and I loved the tales he told, Back when roads were made for horses and a man revered his heritage, But he knew he'd met the future on the day they finished building the covered bridge. When I was fifteen or so, I'd watch the cars go by, The bridge would be my summer shade, I'd sit and drink ice lemonade And dream of moving cross country to the sea, But in my dream I'd come back to sit in the shade of that old bridge; Now my oldest boy is ten years old, city-born and city-raised, I took him on a trip to see some glimpses of his heritage, To sit with him and watch the fish swim by my old covered bridge... But when I looked and saw the new highway bridge that made my river seem just like a stream; My boy looked at me and told me, "Dad, I've never seen you cry before" I told him, "Son, my father used to tell me, 'you can't go back, so you've got to move on', And today I met the future when I saw that my old covered bridge was gone" So we just quietly drove home We just quietly drove home. You can hear this poem on Mystic Rose's "Stories To Tell": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmgJWrMuKpk