Once it sheltered babies,
smelled fried bacon and baking bread,
heard laughter and crying,
felt joy and sorrow,
within its rough-hewn rooms.
Time has not been easy on the house.
Foundation stones tumble and corners sag,
the tin roof is rusted through.
Only one thick board
keeps the porch attached.
The people left.
The windows shattered,
mice burrowed in its walls.
no longer home to man and child
today it's just a barn
But the farmer
patched its roof and shored the walls
to keep his golden haycrop dry.
He loads it full, stands back to say
"Now we're ready for the winter."
Many old homes such as this one stand empty or are allowed to fall down when they could be used for many other purposes. And there's nothing like a tin roof. In my area, they are coming back into favor. Many home owners are placing tin roofs on their homes instead of the usual roofing tile. Color of preference seems to be red.
ReplyDeleteSo many older houses have begun to do double-duty as barns, and at least that is good. You hate to see them left untended, falling apart, rotting, taken over by the weeds! But, the earth reclaims it's own. Loved the poem!
ReplyDeleteMarie