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A Sequel
To
The Weathered Old Barn
By: Tom Wright
11-3-04

A stranger came by just the other day,
with an offer that set me to thinking.
He had seen my old barn from the state highway,
and up my driveway he sped just cranking.

He was typical city, I could tell by his clothes,
from his hands, his car, and his talk.
The old barn leaned as the south wind blows,
and its distance not too great to walk.

It was a handsome barn back in its day,
before years of snow, and howling winds.
Its paint now gone and wood is silvery gray,
Its tired old tin top flaps, sways, and bends.

It set me to thinking as eyes surveyed the field,
and I asked, ”for this barn why such a yen?”
He replied this old barn would have ample yield,
to line the walls of our new home’s den.

He said, ”try buying paint that looks like this,
weathered from storms and summer’s scorch.
In our new home it would bring pure bliss,
with planking left for planters on the porch.”

We’re much the same, you and I, you know, 
but it’s the inside in us where beauty grows.
Our hair turns silver gray and our steps slow,
and why we’re left, rest assured, God knows.

As our years pass, he uses our hard wealth,
laboring at beautifying our  spotted souls.
We should thank him daily for good health,
as we endeavor to play life’s given roles.

But some day soon the time will come,
when our tabernacle too, will be hauled away.
So forsake him not, as is the manner of some,
but faithfully serve him until that day.

Then we may add beauty to our father’s realm,
because of past seasons that have gone by.
Friends, are quiet angels, keeping us at the helm,
when our wings have forgotten how to fly.

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