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wilderness
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« on: May 02, 2008, 02:19:01 PM » |
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from the Jan 15, 1931 Tr & Pcr.
Many thanks to Richard.
THE OLD BARN
By A. B. LOCKE
You've heard the story of locking the door,
After the horse had gone afore.
A door I knew never bad a lock
Lucky indeed if it even was shut.
High on a hill, back of the house,
Stood the old barn with a comfortable air;
Housing for years a good old friend
Offering shelter to the old bay mare.
I can see dad now drive up the lane,
Over the mare's back rested the rein--
Unhitched from out the one horse shay
Unguided the old mare knew her way.
She knew the oat-bin, a tall pine chest,
On top of the cover her head would rest,
Never I knew her to enter her stall
Till she sniffed at the box, examined it all.
With a clap of his hands, dad shooed her away
Same old procedure, day after day,
Now for the meal, how she would whine,
If late in coming, oh my what a time.
Off we would go, leave open the door,
Everything littered all over the floor--
Bills on the side-walls of strange medicine ads,
Colic and spavin cures, all known to dad.
On the same spot, a steel building now stands,
It's cold and unhomelike, clammy, ungrand;
It houses the auto we use on the farm
You can say what you will, I miss the old barn.
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