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