Just an old barn,
Was an old barn when I was born,
Shelter for a couple of cows, perhaps a horse or pony,
Mules often ruled a stall.
Tools and junk, and plenty of stuff to trade.
Hay pitched in the loft during hot, sweaty summer days,
To be fed during cold, icy days of winter,
A yard not always empty, often filled, children playing.
Baseball games and tent pitched for camping.
Harnessing up the pony to a cart to grant rides to all grandchildren,
A yard once filled with a large wooden cabin cruiser.
Sold to Bobby for the hardwoods used in his home’s construction.
And, chickens let out in the afternoon roamed freely upon its lush grass,
Which each of us boys mowed as we grew into the chore.
Just an old barn.
No more.
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