A perfect red barn,

Made of wood.

The dark entrance

Sprinkled with sawdust.

Little yellow dandelions nuzzled together

Like fluffy, cornbread muffins.

The grain spread out like a cat in the sun,

Awaiting the day it gets eaten.

Running out the house door,

We frantically bolt to the red barn.

The sun is just starting to rise,

On this little farm.

Spring sneaks its way in on the crisp air.

The mud clings to our boots.

Bright red finally fills our eyes,

Tempting us to enter its belly.

But we don't dare step foot in the red barn,

Because the guardian goat waits for a fight.