Sunday, January 13, 2013

The Old Barn...

by Marlin Pine

In memory I see the barn
Faded red and weatherworn

Inside the hayloft, ladder stands
Its rungs worn down from countless hands.

From cracks between the sagging walls,
The sun slants to the dusty stalls.

I hear the barn door's rusty rasp,
The summer breeze, the broken clasp.

Sweet fragrance of the newmown hay
Still lingers with me yet today.

The nail I drove next to the door,
Where hung my old rope hackamore.

O, stay the youthful memory...
The barn returns the boy in me.

So when I sleep, I dream I play
Inside the barn, upon the hay.

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