( I have a love for covered bridges in America )
Tears at the Old Union covered bridge..
Too fast along this winding road she drives,
Early evening memories along for the ride.
Tears map the contours of her face,
Two Long streams run down a pace.
Her usual immaculate hair unplaced,
Tangled,knotted,from no stylists place.
Voices replayed as if a moment hence,
Still placed firmly within her thoughts.
Just Ahead a place where first they met,
Old Union bridge, Mentone, Alabama.
No doors, One way in, one way out,
Like a house in a road,no trucks to overload.
So beautiful in daylight, so haunting in the dark,
History and memories in every plank and every bark.
Over one hundred years, she stood this place,
Watching time,during wars, days slow, old cars race.
All manor of vehicles have come past your way,
Chicken laden trucks and those stacked up with hay.
How much longer can this piece of history last,
I know not, but know that, ghosts will mourn its past.