The Old Rope Bridge by Collin Marshall and Nithya Atla

I could feel the river water,

Splashing on my face,

As I crossed the bridge,

At a breakneck pace.

The bridge creaked and groaned,

Complaining when I stepped,

And it tossed and turned,

When I lept.

The air across the ravine,

Was dank and musty,

Once traveled,

It was now dusty.