Hewn timbers weathered by timeless winds
Stand naked against a pastel sky,
Skeletal remains of a broken barn
Too tired to live and too proud to die.
Grey, peeling shingles that shed like skin
Are strewn against stones in a family plot,
Five dark slabs leaning into the shadows,
Moss-drab marks on a weedy lot.
Nesting birds sit dotting the rafters
With dropping feathers and lilting song,
Barn swallows don’t mind the lack of a roof,
They don’t dread the night that lasts too long.
Hollyhocks nod at a barnyard gate
That is hinged on the mood of the wind,
On blustery days it sways with a squeak,
On calm ones, it tilts upright again.
To some this scene is desolation,
A story of defeat and sorrow,
But to singing birds and nodding flowers,
It’s just today, and then tomorrow.