Long forgotten timber supports the faltering frame.
Once the centerpiece of the farm;
The pride and joy of the farmer.
Horses, plows, wagons, tractors,
All had a roof over their heads.

The roof is now gone, replaced with the heavens.
Walls sinking into the mire,
Floor boards rotting to the bone.
Shattered glass rests in glittering piles,
Beams beginning to give way.

Worn stone steps lead up to the lead painted door.
Rusted hinges squeak in the wind,
Old wavy glass catches the setting light.
Cut nails protrude from the grey wood,
Waiting to be hammered back in place.

The resolute barn humbly stands in the vacant field.
Waiting to be remembered,
Waiting for vibrance once again.
Salvation will either be borne by a hammer,
Or by the winds of time.