Faye Sizemore

GUARDS AT THE BRIDGE

I dreamed I was dead, my life done
People were marching, one by one
Marching to a wide river with a long bridge
I could hear celebrating just over the ridge

This wasn’t like the story I was told
The bridge was huge and made of gold
At the bridge armed soldier guards stood
I started to pass across as I thought I should

When one of the soldiers caught my eye
I had known him and I had seen him die:
“Bill, old buddy” I said, “it’s good to see you here”
He smiled at me and I saw the trickle of a tear

“Thanks,” he said “for keeping me within your heart.”
He handed me his rifle and started to depart
“Wait, Bill, I want to go on across beside you.
Don’t leave me here; I don’t know what to do.”

He smiled, “These are the last steps of the last mile
As I did, and we all, you must stand guard here awhile
Be ever faithful, be ever watchful, and be ever true
Until across comes a brother who has remembered you.”