BARN

by: Leland James

A barn abandoned, left to drift, alone,

Wind torn, breached upon the reef of time,

Sinking in a sea of dust and fields unsown.

Once wagons lined in wait, a working rhyme,

To fill the grange, like tenders to a mighty ship;

Now, but a shadow, listing, ghostly gray.

November's pelts of rain, how cruelly whip

The wounded roof and soak the rotted hay.

The roof, an April green in days of yore,

A farmer's name upon it stitched in white.

This ark of kittens, bawling calves, no more.

Rats, the sole inhabitants, gnaw the final rite.

      Forgotten barn, a trace, each day more faint.

      No! so long as easels stand and hands still paint.