Off in the woods of fall, stood a single bridge.
Whose purpose was to allow traffic from ridge to ridge.
It looked like sentry for all to see and be aware.
That this was country. Not Times square!
The quiet was almost deafening to perceive.
Except, for the rustle of the leaves,
That bridge has stood for many a decade.
Watched the seasons come and go, only to fade.
Stand still and silent, you necessary span.
For ,you are an aide every man.
Who ,wishes to reach the other side.
Perhaps to scout the land far and wide.
No one knows who built the bridge to go
Over, the chasm far below.
Only that it can be used by all,
Morning, noon, and nightfall.
Over the lonely bridge called the bridge of Fall
With it's defining air of mystery,
Where eventually persons large and small.
Will become their own page of history.
Could it be, God ushers in those who are ready,
To walk with Him slow and steady.
From this sad world into a better place.
To live in heaven with His Grace.
© Carol G Oliver
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