I have always like seeing old house and old barns and let my mind form a picture of what once was. This poem speaks to that.
The tree leans forward,
and still tries to protect
the old abandoned barn.
Its shielding leaves were
long ago swept away
by the blowing wind,
yet, tangled branches still hold
broken shingles.
Cracked window panes remember
when a placid cow stood
chewing her cud during a storm.
A weathered door, hanging
by one rusty hinge,
is framed by milkweed seeds
trapped in decaying spider webs.
A cold wind carries the
first flake of snow
that soon will cover
the last clear picture
of home.
No comments:
Post a Comment