Securing the Gate at Dusk
For a long time, the old barn had quite a lean.
When you'd come around the bend, it was comforting to see it.
Blushing and shifting weight in the sunlight.
It was a great loss when it finally succumbed to gravity and time.
If it could speak, would it speak of great sacrifice
or hardship and good times.
Would it converse with antiques and machinery?
or the shadow of a barn cat and a long-retired tire swing.
The old farmer had quite a lean just before he passed.
Don't believe he ever got to retire.
He bounced up and down those dusty rows for half a century.
There was a lot of wisdom and a sprinkle of secrets in that lean...
A quiet ferocity coiled in those ancient-bronzed hands.
He lived through two world wars and fought in one.
He served- fed and cleaned up the messes of the elite.
He prayed over and buried everything that he loved....
The city slag still called him simple and backwards.
There is something noble about an old farmer.
Securing his gate at dusk.
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