An Ode to #13, a Covered Bridge Holiday Poem;
‘Twas the night before Christmas, near the Silver Comet’s ridge
Not a vehicle was stirring, trying to get under the bridge;
The silver beams were hung by the DOT with care,
In hopes that U-Hauls would not travel there;
The neighbors were nestled all snug in their beds;
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
All was quiet in Cobb on the old Concord Road,
Not a single car horn, nary a single wide-load,
When on the Covered Bridge there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window, I gave out a scream,
Tore open the shutters to see a bent silver beam.
“Not Again” was the thought which made me cringe,
As I struggled to see who had hit the bridge.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.
He sprung to his sleigh, near the beam now leaning,
And away he drove off, like a criminal fleeing:
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight-
Happy Christmas to all, unless you’re all over-height.