There was a Creek on Tuscola that raised a family of three—
Water swam through shards to move this trinity through time.
A pile of pebbles glued by cement held them up, with pride,
As a father does for a child with his knee bent, but
This Bridge’s relationship with their mother was concrete—
It lifted her from murkiness, then its energy would deplete.
And the children were playfully mocked as they danced through the stream—
The Birds chirped in awe of their free-hand paintings.
Even the Trees swayed with enchantment; Mulberries
Released when saplings hugged their slanted torsos.
Then the day came when saplings became Trees—an empty nest
Encouraged their mother to leave. The yard erupted with petrified
Pleas; Trees swayed and snapped, then the Creek began to roar—
They wanted to watch the children play once more.
Weeds began to grow, then the Bridge cracked and cowered, but
The wind still whispers stories of two children and their mother.