The Bridge Story
I grew up in the
woods and hills of Pennsylvania.
We cousins and
neighbors had our adventures
all over the
area and especially in an abandoned park
which my
parents used to run. We built our clubhouse
in a building
where swimmers used to change clothes.
There was a
little stream running through.
We dammed it up
and made a fishing hole
and threw a
long board over it for a bridge.
My aunt was afraid
that our five-year-old cousin
would fall in.
So we made two more bridges.
If she fell
from them, she’d only get her feet wet.
But there she came
showing off her new dress.
Bounce, bounce,
bounce across the long bridge
and fell into the
fishing hole just like my aunt had said.
So we fished
out our cousin and took down the bridge.
No comments:
Post a Comment