The first bridge collapsed,
That is the way things transpired.
So, the politicians admitted their worst,
And set out to rehire.

A construction crew,
Both brave and true.
To build an immortal crossing,
Tokoma Bridge Two.

The shouted in turn,
And out of turn, too.
They sweated, they sneered, and argued,
Until their faces turned bright blue.

“This situation is dire,
Our bodies, we are tired,
Let’s call it a day,
We’ll retire, retire.”

A salesman was passing by,
And a gleam shone in his eye.
“I’ll build that bridge,” he said,
“Out of steel and fire.
I’ll take care of it all,
Retire, Retire.”

The men couldn’t say no to that,
And took the man for his word.
They left the room swiftly,
Without a single word.

Time came to pass,
And the salesman had been paid.
The bridge now stood,
Of what seemed to be the lowest grade.
The men all wailed,
And cursed the tricky salesman.
For his lies and sins,
And they never ever recognized,
The sloth and greed that lay within.

So, now their stands,
A bridge of the lowest form.
None dare to pass,
Yet none dare to scorn.
And the rafters they say,
Are made out of corn.