See that bridge ahead of me, it's one I have to cross;
its wooden planks are old and have their share of moss.
I know it is not sturdy, but still I must pass through,
overall it is the safest path, so what else can I do?
I feel the boards bending under the weight of my feet.
What I wouldn't give to be across, to the gravel street.
This covered bridge goes on and on, a night without end;
I would gladly accept the invitation any light rays send.
I hear the echoes of the steps of those come here before,
a fading smell of water tells me I won't walk much more.
The trip has made me weary, its length has worn me out;
what will come by its end, remains to be my only doubt.
