A black skeleton spanning across Otter Creek,
Its former self gone,
In a blaze of fire encompassing its entire span.
Gone in an instant.
All that is left is that black skeleton.
And memories in all the people who crossed the bridge,
By car, truck, foot or bicycle,
Either daily or every now and then.
On its eastern side the road cut a straight line across the farm fields straight onto the bridge.
Sometimes the fields were full of water as the creek overflowed.