The Dying Barn

An empty, scarred, red barn
With broken windows
Stares across the farmyard
To where the house once stood.

Like a tear, a chip of paint
Falls slowly from its side.
The sound of children playing
And the lowing of the cows is gone now.

The wind whistles through
Cracks where boards have fallen.
Pigeons coo softly in the rafters
The same rafters that reflected men’s voices as they worked.

An old lantern still swings
From its hook by the door.
And day after day, year after year,
As the barn slowly rots,

It waits, hoping someday
That life will come back to its farmyard

1994 - Sophia