THE OLD BARN - a poem by Patricia Crandall



The old gray barn sleeps
in the windless meadow
where brilliant sunsets
crown its peaked rooftop.
Starlings
sprinkle black
along the eaves.
The old gray barn creaks
and groans, unable to surrender.
It is a keeper of mice,
    squirrels and barnyard cats,
    lofty, musty,
with remnants of happier days
when it was a haven
for children, now grown,
rarely visited
by the present generation.
Fate is a windstorm
capsizing the old barn
to a rubble of barn wood. 


 

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