The Barn My Father Built

I will arise and go now, and go to where the corn stands tall
Row upon row, nearby beside the silent autumnal wood;
And from afar, the blue jay’s plaintive call
Beckons memories of that sacred place of childhood.

And I shall take a timorous step into shadows formed to fall
While without, flowers ablaze with life, and fields of ripening grain
Offer up the Sirens’ call: 
Remain! Remain!

Yet I shall walk beneath the rafters and touch the hand-hewn beams
And breathe in deeply the scent of by-gone fields of hay
Stored in lofty expectation, as sun gleams
Through weathered planks withstanding storm-filled nights and clement days

Ah! That breath inhaled, released into dust-bedazzled air
The ancient architecture receiving, bearing
A holy psalm,
A prayer

Shared by Nancy Buffenbarger