The Ravages of TIme

“Back in the day,”

This barn was filled with black and white and swishing tails,

Four brothers would milk by hand,

Twice a day,

With stools and silver pails,

They would work their way up,

Country music in the background,

Each breath a small cloud of condensation,

Into the winter air.

 

Done with chores,

At 7 o’clock they’d head in,

Past the chicken coop,

Greeted at the door,

By the aroma of gravy and fresh baked bread.

After a warm dinner, quick to bed,

The day began at 4:30

No matter how cold or tired,

The cows couldn’t wait.

 

Once spring arrived it was time to plant,

And in the summer

The sweet smell of alfalfa would thicken the air,

Freshly cut, its vivid green would dry

To become the round bales that would dot the hillside.

As September rounded the corner,

The crisp red apples would begin to fall,

Some lay forgotten, bees buzzing happily about them,

While the green corn stalks towered over 6 feet.

 

 

 

Now half of the dilapidated barn lies in ruins,

A bright blue tarp covers holes in the roof.

There is no smoke coming from the house,

No enticing aroma envelops you at the door.

Thick dust covers everything left inside.

A quick glance through the grimy kitchen window,

Reveals an empty pasture,

And debris sticking out of the chicken coop.

On the floor there lies a faded photograph of four men working,

Two caught in a moment of laughter.

 

Time has destroyed this home,

this history,

As easily as you blow out a match.

Just the skeletons left,

Empty.