Take a good look, I whisper, passing the old barn.
This sight is one to save; it’s one of the last
of its kind, nearly a relic. But its roots
are deep and still it holds on, alive
and productive, regardless of the times.
It holds the stories of generations,
their sweat and celebrations, setbacks
and victories, ways of life hardly known
to us now, but floating on time’s river
nevertheless, into a foreign world.
It holds the songs of children playing
in the gardens, the low moos of cows
echoing from the barn, the growling
of old tractors working the rocky fields.
It stands for endurance, for relying
on nothing but faith and hard work
to carry you through the next season,
the next day. It sings the defiance
of survivors, and their strength
and satisfaction. It’s down-to-earth
come to life, and its roots are deep.