Sunday Drive

During a drive through the countryside
You say the old barns look like ships
From ancient oceans marooned in the fields
But I say that the barns are like monuments
To hard agrarian work over many long days
When the summer sun hung heat in thick air
And gnats swarmed into a scribbled cloud
As horses with heads down massaged the pasture
With their nimble lips grazing the days away
And the cows knowing the weather would all lie down
On the hillside beneath the trees overlooking the pond
To wait on the coming rain
We talk about the old farmers who sweated
In their faded bib overalls as they worked the land
And farmer’s wives cooking, cleaning, and mending
Surviving the hard living while kids
With dirty faces played in the yard
We talk about the livestock that came and went
The prized cow, the favorite horse
How many chickens and hogs slaughtered for food
How many dogs napping under the porch
Who is left that remembers any of the generations
Only the barn, barely standing, remaining defiant
Its weathered wood still hiding a bit of hay in the loft
The outside walls leaning as sunlight streams in
Through the cracks like a glimmer of hope for us all