In An Old Barn

 

 

Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay

O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves,
Up to the rafters where the spider weaves,
Though few flies wander his secluded way.
Through a high chink one lonely golden ray,
Wherein the dust is dancing, slants unstirred.
In the dry hush some rustlings light are heard,
Of winter-hidden mice at furtive play.
Far down, the cattle in their shadowed stalls,
Nose-deep in clover fodder's meadowy scent,
Forget the snows that whelm their pasture streams,
The frost that bites the world beyond their walls.
Warm housed, they dream of summer, well content
In day-long contemplation of their dreams.

~ Charles G. D. Roberts (1860 - 1943 )

The Old Barn

Oh! a jolly old place is grandpa's barn,
Where the doors stand open throughout the day,
And the cooing doves fly in and out,
And the air is sweet with the fragrant hay.

Where the grain lies over the oaken floor
And the hens are busily scratching around,
And the sunbeams flicker, and dance, and shine,
And the breeze blows through with a merry sound

The swallows twitter and chirp all day
With fluttering wings in the old brown eaves,
And robin sing in the trees which lean
To brush the roof with their rustling leaves.

The timid mice in the corner glean
A harvest sly from the scattered grain,
And the insects hum in the well-filled lofts,
And build their nests on the window-pane.

Oh! dear old barn, where my childish days
Were passed full oft, how I long to be
Only a child again, to play
Beneath thy roof with the old-time glee.

The Old Barn ~ Mary Dow Brine 1816-1913

In An Old Barn

Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay

O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves,

Up to the rafters where the spider weaves,

Though few flies wander his secluded way.

Through a high chink one lonely golden ray,

Wherein the dust is dancing, slants unstirred.

In the dry hush some rustlings light are heard,

Of winter-hidden mice at furtive play.

Far down, the cattle in their shadowed stalls,

Nose-deep in clover fodder's meadowy scent,

Forget the snows that whelm their pasture streams,

The frost that bites the world beyond their walls.

Warm housed, they dream of summer, well content

In day-long contemplation of their dreams.

~ Charles G. D. Roberts (1860 - 1943 )

The Old Barn

click to enlarge

Just down the road…around the bend,

Stands an old empty barn; nearing the end.

It has sheltered no animals for many years;

No dairy cows, no horses, no sheep, no steers.

The neigh of a horse; the low of a cow;

Those sounds have been absent for some time now.

There was a time when the loft was full of hay,

And the resounding laughter of children at play.

At one time the paint was a bold shade of red;

Gradually faded by weather and the sun overhead.

The doors swing in the wind…the hinges are loose;

Windows and siding have taken a lot of abuse.

The fork, rope and pulleys lifted hay to the mow;

A task that always brought sweat to the brow.

But those good days are gone; forever it seems,

And that old barn now stands with sagging beams.

It is now home to pigeons, rats and mice;

The interior is tattered and doesn’t look very nice.

Old, abandoned barns have become a trend,

Just down the road….around the bend.

~Vance Oliphant, c. 1999.

In an Old Barn

In an Old Barn.

Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay
O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves,
Up to the rafters where the spider weaves,
Though few flies wander his secluded way.
Through a high chink one lonely golden ray,
Wherein the dust is dancing, slants unstirred.
In the dry hush some rustlings light are heard,
Of winter-hidden mice at furtive play.
Far down, the cattle in their shadowed stalls,
Nose-deep in clover fodder's meadowy scent,
Forget the snows that whelm their pasture streams,
The frost that bites the world beyond their walls.
Warm housed, they dream of summer, well content
In day-long contemplation of their dreams.

~ Charles G. D. Roberts 1860-1943

The Old Barn.

Just down the road…around the bend,
Stands an old empty barn; nearing the end.
It has sheltered no animals for many years;
No dairy cows, no horses, no sheep, no steers.
The neigh of a horse; the low of a cow;
Those sounds have been absent for some time now.
There was a time when the loft was full of hay,
And the resounding laughter of children at play.
At one time the paint was a bold shade of red;
Gradually faded by weather and the sun overhead.
The doors swing in the wind…the hinges are loose;
Windows and siding have taken a lot of abuse.
The fork, rope and pulleys lifted hay to the mow;
A task that always brought sweat to the brow.
But those good days are gone; forever it seems,
And that old barn now stands with sagging beams.
It is now home to pigeons, rats and mice;
The interior is tattered and doesn’t look very nice.
Old, abandoned barns have become a trend,
Just down the road….around the bend.
~Vance Oliphant, c. 1999.

(Click to enlarge)