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The Old Red Barn



Its weathered roof has seen the sunrise

Thousands and thousands of times

The green spackled shingles are worn out

Subdued by the sounds of wind chimes


Its red painted sides are now faded

Yet refreshed not just a few months ago

The relentless wind shows it no mercy

Nor the pitiless shards of iced snow


But cared for and nurtured like family

This building has anchored this farm

Housed needed equipment and fixtures Provides animals shelter from harm


A beacon to neigbours and comrades

Its crimson heart firm in the mud

The bustle of work like a rhythm

Its harvested bounty the blood


How long will it stand in the midlands

As the children it’s raised hit the road

None left to assure a fresh touch up

No soul round to hoist the last load


But I know the red barn will not perish

Long from now it will be standing

Someone will refresh its green shingles

There’ll be kinship and lively glad-handing


For humans are meant to be reaping

So the tradition of farming prevails

We’re drawn and connected to land

Though we’ll never stop blazing new trails…

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