My dad would turn the motor off
We’d sit in sheer suspense,
The car would slowly move uphill
Defying common sense.

 Those were the days of families
Togetherness preferred,
Enjoying times together, which
Is nowadays absurd.

When we went on a Sunday ride
The goal was getting lost.
We often would achieve it because
Old back roads criss-crossed.
 

I had a dream a while ago
That we went out one day
And ended in another state
A thousand miles away.

 My Dad was quite a traveler
While working for the state.
Our family's recreation was
To ride along…and wait!

And since we’re back in former times
A bridge does come to mind,
‘Twas seen as I was heading north
And swinging, too, I’d find.

A few steps out, all seemed okay
Until I stopped to look,
On rapids, many feet below
And that was all it took,

Retreating on my hands and knees
No more desire to cross,
Soon safely back on solid ground
My pride the only loss.

Yes, bridges of all sorts were found
Upon those family rides.
My Dad especially loved the kind
With covered top and sides.

 My brothers would anticipate
Before the bridge was past
The thing that Dad would always do:
He gave the horn a blast!

The noise he made reverberated
In occupants' ears.
Although he said 'twas meant to warn,
More likely it caused fears!

Quaint old relics of the past:
The Covered Bridges of Maine,
One hundred twenty at one time
Now only ten remain.
 
Once under the protecting roof
Within, what secrets hide?
The rain and snow kept out of reach
For lovers safe inside.

Such Yankee ingenuity
Deserves sincere applause,
The mind now rests on things that are
Farewell to all that was.

~*~

This trip we took down mem’ry lane
Has only touched the surface,
Since all things must have an end
This seems the time and place.

Although the men were never mentioned
We know why and who,
We’ll just keep that our little secret
But for now adieu