Horse-Barn

There stands my family’s horse-barn, old logs, chinking, and rustic charm, here out west it’s too dray to farm, and mountain winds do small plants harm. A ranch is what it’s always been, since days of pioneering men, this barn was first built was back when, we still fought the Indians then. How many people passing through slept a night under this here roof, and at least one banditto too was shot here when the barn was new. Countless cowboys kept mounts inside, rose early in the morn to ride, down the long valley they did fly, seeking out where the herd did hide. My grandfather rebuilt this place, the work he did has proved so great that even now, at present date, there’s hardly anything to break. I played here often, as a kin, can’t believe half the things we did, like the time my friend Bobby hid in the haystacks, heaven forbid. My first child was conceived here, on new straw that I had put down that year, Mel and I had stolen some beer, two months later, we were in tears. And now this barn belongs to me, this ranch stays in the family, Mel and I now have children, three, making their own barn-memories. So proud amidst the valley floor, will is stand a century more? Will my grandchildren know the score of what happened behind these doors? Damn straight they will.