The Corn Crib

I've passed this way many a day and wondered as I strayed; Who had opened, what had filled the gap within the crib's dark bay. The opening small in the wall at once so spare yet alluring with tilted sides and gap toothed maw which now held field mice burrowing. The boards of red once formed a bed for stored feed of golden maze, these cedar shingles had sheltered the abundance of by gone days. The farm's gone now, no fields, no cow long past its youth, its heyday housing only bitter sweet and memories of corn cobs and play. Yet, here it stands, as I go by, and so quietly it brings to me; the lingering joy of laughter the faint echoes of jubilee.