The Barn Remembers

I am the bones of shelter past,
Stone-stacked and weathered, built to last.
My frameless window, once a watchful eye,
Now frames the hills where echoes lie.

I held the heat of cattle breath,
The stomp of life, the scent of death.
Children laughed within my frame
And whispered every creature’s name.
Their voices warmed my wooden beams;
They sang of stars and stitched their dreams.
By lantern light and winter’s chill,
I kept them close — I held them still.

But Time, she walks with quiet tread,
And all who lived have long since fled.
My roof gave way to sky and rain,
Yet still I dream of them again.
I see them when the grasses bend,
And feel them in the evening wind —
A figure here, a footstep there,
Old joys and griefs still haunt the air.

Through this rough window, once a door,
I watch, I wait — I ask no more.