Covered Bridge at the End of the Road  
Crude span saves one from the rain,
Shadows for the beat of sun, or blowing snow,
Screens lovers’ stolen kisses, and more.
A strong brace against blasts of cold wind.
Keeps horses warm, maybe even a dog or two.  

Turnstile blocked and begged pennies
To save us miles, time, even before time
Became the dreaded thief of later days.
Two hundred years it cast reflection  
To creek below, hiding minnow, crab.

No badge awarded for steadfast service,
Or protection from vandals’ rape, graffiti,
Or time’s erosive wrath.
 
The crack of beams held fast against
Yellow buses’ weighted load of children,
Tractor wagons overloaded with harvest,
Raging water vainly thrashing trestle stand.  

Repair neglected by keeper state while raucus
Ones steal its shelter for kegs, cigs. Gags
And rags of tune. Why you did not burn, who
Knows? Instead you stand, a welcome to all
Who use your planks and passage into an ancient
Road’s memories, history, past and present.
Tales of the road are tales of its people.  

More stories there are to tell of church bells,
Plowed fields, harvest labors, savage storms,
Summer droughts, sickness, dreaded death knell.
School, sheep, hemp for rope, dams for lakes,
Corn, hay, pork for ham and work, oh my, work.  

This, though, does end this season of pen to paper,
Or fingers to keys. We await the book, brag to
Our friends, and feel down right proud of our effort.
Thank you to all who make this possible!.