Old barn sittin’ on the edge of a grown up field
roof fallin’ in, boards comin’ off, covered up with kudzu.
How many mules did the old barn shelter;
tractors with implements—hand tools and such?
Old barn made it through the flood of 1940;
held up through the blizzard of ’93.
Old barn heard all the kids playin’ in the stalls,
seen the teenagers lovin’ up in the hayloft too.
A way of life that came, thrived, and now’s
goin’—old barn’s been through it all.
My granddaddy built the old barn with
a quick mind and strong, rough hands.
He’s no longer here—been gone almost 20 years;
yet the old barn just lives on and on.
Carl Iobst, July 1, 2010