The Old Bridge Poem by R. K. Hart

An very old bridge stood dominate,
Over rushing river prominent.
No doubt by now had seen better days,
Many years covered in summers haze.

Timbers now creak with foot or hoof,
Although now few animals and little proof.
Small animals prints and perhaps a horse,
Herds would bring about deathly remorse.

But in its day it saw great commerce,
Moreover a horse drawn blackened hearse.
It saw sheep and dusty cattle herds,
It carried secretive meetings of lovebirds.

Lawbreakers and lawmakers also traversed,
Church goers, quilt sewers and drovers dusty thirst.
The old bridge remembers histories deeds,
Suicides, soldier's braded on handsome steeds.

Now her timbers are a valued resource,
And workman here steel away this concourse.
Every nail and knot memories numerous,
But now a dinner or coffee table for hubris.

Let us stand as our histories custodians,
Renovate and repair, keep her from brigands.
Protect our history for the child to come,
Once history is lost, it is lost forever son.