We slow down at the covered bridge,
The wooden planks so old,
Our headlights illuminate the dark,
As stories briefly told.
The creek runs shallow underneath,
Its banks grown up with reed,
The water shines like silver thread,
In this historic deed.
They built these bridges years ago,
With timber hewn so fine,
To span the creeks and rivers,
Across this land of mine.
We cross with reverence and care,
Lest the old wood break,
The old covered bridge crossing,
Is a piece of history we make.
CC0 License
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