Grave Creek

She died when she was young
Just 16 years at hand
Along the Applegate Trail
On her way to the promised land

A bridge marks the place
Where they crossed the creek
A quiet gothic reminder
The journey not for the meek

A small grave marks the place
Where she lies in peace
Its not far from the bridge
Its twenty yards at least

Now the interstate
Runs past this sacred site
Its quiet during the day
But no so much at night

Some have seen a girl
Dressed in flowing white
When the sun goes down
Just after twilight

She crosses Grave Creek
Through the covered bridge
Singing a little song
About the nearby ridge

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