The logs are warped and weathered
Heaving in the cold West wind,
Rain beats down on the sagging roof,
Yet the barn still stands,
Stubborn, resisting the elements,
Waiting for support, a helping hand.
The horses' name plates still hang
Precariously by rusty nails - Mayda, Major,
You can hear their hooves pounding, echoing,
Listen and hear the cow mooing
Contentedly in their stalls
A bit of hay is here and there.
Left from another time.
Cut, dried, peeled, by loving hands
The old barn stands proud,
A symbol of strength and endurance,
Still at the mercy of nature's whims.
Waiting for caring loving hands to nurse her wounds
And make her well again.
--Margret (Rusty) Vander Veen