The Old Red Barn
The old red barn seems to grow up through the dust and brown
Along the vague dirt road that mars the sage.....
The rhythm played by rain for wait of seeds, still echoes here
Erect and proud, it stands somber as the purple shadows that surround the hills
A faint whistling song is heard within these derelict arms
A song of faith....a song of sweat...a song of contentment and tears
Someone fitted the beams, and squared window panes, ....and built a life
Hope and pride filled to the rafters, as it overlooked rolling fields plowed, tilled and furrowed
Now weathered gray, it creaks and groans under dark prairie skies
It leans inches more with each Chinook wind that sweeps and sways the grain
Where now only wind whistles through the eves, and stiff grasses grow
And bats and mice find a place to live, and white stars shine down on loneliness
Abandoned and forsaken, while gaunt hills stand silently by
Day after day, under the prairie sky, this monument that is left alone to die
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2010
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