Bleached by summer sunshine,
Bearing bitter winter storms,
Stands an old decrepit barn,
Straining to hold her form.
Secrets of her past,
Unfold before my eyes,
As visions of her history,
Draw from me a sigh.
I ponder of the likeness,
Of this body, and the barn.
Each weathered just a bit,
From life lived on the farm.
The sun has tanned this flesh.
My eyes, have somewhat dimmed.
On my lap, I still hold children,
With these slight, unsteady limbs.
When this frame has fallen,
I’ll leave it all behind,
In hopes that a few treasures,
Someone else will surely find.
© 2004 Marie Williams
