In an out of way place, hard to get to,
Located far back in the hills,
Stands an old barn, all broken down,
Plain and without any frills.

Just biding its' time as it hangs on,
Awaiting its' final end,
Beneath weathered shingles, some missing and gone,
Torn loose and destroyed by harsh wind.

The barn used to be overflowing with life,
And painted an eye catching red,
The mow always full of sweet smelling hay,
Forked down to the cattle Gramps fed.

His cows used to take refuge in there,
To feel safe from each raging storm,
Gramps grew old, and the cows were sold,
Leaving the barn so forlorn.

There's a layer of dust that covers all now,
With cobwebs galore overhead,
Wildlife use the barn, now for their home,
As shelter from winter's dread.

The barn is a special monument,
To happier days from the past,
Forsaken and seldom remembered,
As years have sped by so fast.

A lantern still hangs high on a nail,
It's globe broken out years ago,
Used to make dark nights seem brighter,
When lit by it's golden warm glow.

Any sound now is merely an echo,
That bounces off of each wall,
In my mind I still see cows come running,
In answer to Grandfather's call.

The barn's destiny is fixed, with no way to change,
As it sags and waits there alone,
A sad reminder, as long as it stands,
Of all that is left of a home.

Loree Mason O'Neil
©2004
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