Bridget And The Bridge

Young Bridget was a cautious soul, Not one to risk her all, She'd rather have her self-control Than jump up high then fall... That's why she froze one Summer's day, When at the bridge she stood... She didn't trust the stones or clay, She didn't trust the wood! While others crossed the bridge ahead, She watched through gritted teeth, With one almighty sense of dread That strengthened disbelief... Yet there she stood while buses drove, Full up for all to see, Her mind, though numbed, for courage strove, Yet brave she wouldn't be... So Bridget made her way back home, As if she had no choice, As if no more from home to roam, While she regained her poise... Though fifty years have come and gone, The bridge remains quite strong... While Bridget lived her life alone, Still asking, 'Was I wrong? ' Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.