BARNS by Sheryl Cooley
They say if the barn is in better shape,
The man rules the roost,
If it’s the house,
It’s the woman.
Personally, I prefer the barns,
Though I know that sounds old-fashioned,
Not those that list from lack of plumb-ness, lack of care,
Not those intent on domination.
But ones built carefully with love
On firm, stone-hewed foundations,
Raised by friends and friends of friends
Until they stand, rock solid.
I prefer barns that stand at ease
And greet the sun with gladness,
The rain with grace, the snow with patience,
Storms with fortitude.
Inside, stalls mucked out, pitchforks pegged,
Dust motes swirl in slats of sun,
Cows with velvet eyes, content,
See oat straw in your hair.
My favorite barns are deep, rich red,
Bold, adventurous, traditional, warm,
Inviting, enticing, succoring, sure,
The color of the heart.
And where a barn is all of that,
It ages gracefully,
The house stands with it, weathered, too,
In timeless, love-struck beauty.
