Our father's fathers built a bridge
To span the waters of the Elk.
With pride they cut the great white stone
And brought it slowly, placed it well.
They knew that they had built a bridge
To give their children's children.
A war soon came and armies pass
From South to North and back again.
In blinding fury, thousands fell
To rise no more. But, one remained.
A thing of beauty stood untouched
Among the crumbled ruins.
In Spring it brought the warriors home.
They saw that life was yet to live.
It stood a solid symbol there
Of honoor safe and hope renewed.
The bridge was made of more than stone.
It was our fathers' dream.
In peace this bridge bore farmers' crops
And merchants' goods. Thetey shared the wealth,
And wealth soon grew, till money by itself
Could build two spans of guilded pride
Across the Elk at Bearden''s Mill
And Eldad Road, as well.
The old stone bridge began to show
The years of wind and rain and cold.
Though some would turn their heads away
And curse the narrow, aging bridge,
Still more recalled their fathers' dream
And honored their old friend.
But, still the years came rolling by
On carriage horsed, then horseless too.
From far away came men to share
The county's wealth grown greater still.
They built until the bridge was just
One bridge among the many.
So, soon forgot those early there
And little knew those newly come
The stone-bridge builders, dreamers all,
Who cleared the ground and cut the cane.
The young could see the bridge took love,
But saw no profit in it.
A people's wealth and honor rests
Upon their father's fathers' work.
Yet, now those stones our fathers held
Are lying mute in river bed.
It's good that they can't see the work
Done by their children's children.