The Old Barn

This was written for someone close to me, after seeing a picture of a barn on his boyhood home.

Silent and dark it sits;

The old barn partially hidden by Oaks, Elms and Cedars.

Wind whistles through on stormy nights,

Cold winter days, crisp fall mornings and cicada filled summer evenings.

 

Be still and silent.  Hear voices from years past:
the lowing of  cattle; lambs bleating, chickens scratching, horses puffing.

Footsteps on icy mornings, approaching for early morning milking before school.

Young boys’ voices calling out; playing on rainy days.

Cowboys and Indians, playing ball, jumping from the loft landing on hay bales.

 

Can you hear the music?

The family gathered playing music:

Guitar, banjo, mandolin, bass, fiddle.

Jimmie Rodgers, Hank Snow, Johnny Cash,

Merle Haggard, Appalachian Blue Grass.

 

Boys, becoming men; from steers and horses

To motorcycles and old trucks; girlfriends, music

Dreams of a life away from the old farm and chores.

Grown men, who even now, long for the days of 4-H meetings

And playing games with their brothers in the old barn..

See the rainbow arching over reminding these boys of life on the farm

In the old barn.

 

Reviews

[bobby]

I'd like to feast on more meat as I quickly speed read your work here. It was not enough for me to gather my wits and live in your reflections of the ole farm. Could almost be an outline to a grander story.