THE OLD BARN.

THE OLD BARN

The sun is listening to the

Morning.

Like a warbled voices’ song.

Mother Nature is neglected, he walks on

Sad stilts like a clown.  A lone loon sounds

Its warbled cry across the vast lake,

Frightened of its vastness.  A flower opens

Its pedals in the garden.  There are weeds.

A man is singing in his shower as he gets ready

For work, which is basically shoveling manure in an old barn.

He thinks the barn is haunted.

A wild lily is straining towards the sun,

Near the open doorway of the barn.

A horse arches its head in the doorway of its stall,

Talking to itself because there is no one else to talk to.

Sometimes, the wind mourns sadly.

The man who must shovel the manure crawls out of his

House, and walks to the barn, whistling, carrying

A shovel over his shoulder, happy that the morning

Has broken, happy to be alive.