How the Barn Came to Be

The people came from all around.

To make a home on this fertile ground.

Hopes of a new life is what they found.

The soil was rich, a deep chocolate brown.

Soon to be potatoes, beans, and corn the color of a crown.

And so, a barn was built by the men and women of this small town.

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Timber walls and open windows were on display

With a can of paint, the color of a crimson red jay.

And wrapped in brown paper, a package was given one Sunday,

Inside, a pack of seeds that will bloom in May.

They said, “We will remember this day.”

And so, a photo was snapped under the archway,

Of a hopeful family with a lovely bouquet.

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Laughter filled these wooden walls, a melodic and memorable sound.

From the rafters to the creaky old floor there was never a frown,

Because to the people, this barn was renowned

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It was soon filled with horses, pigs, and even a hound.

Chickens laid eggs left and right, up and down.

Cows and sheep grazed, but at dusk, they were homeward bound.

And the rooster was awake from sunup till sundown.

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Under the clouds that drenched the warm summer sky.

They’d gather for Christmas, New Year’s, or the Fourth of July.

A slice of chocolate cake, an apple tart, and cherry pie.

Blistered grapes, flower buds, and birds that fly high.

The moon rises and crickets chirp a soothing lullaby.

This barn was ever-changing like a caterpillar and a butterfly.

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On a hot summer night when fireflies take flight.

They illuminate the sky all dreamy and bright.

Flickering among the old oak trees it’s a magical sight.

They radiate a twinkling emerald green light.

We chase them like diamonds in the night.

We keep them in a jar to watch over us under the moonlight.

Good night old barn, sleep well, and sleep tight.

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I will never forget autumn leaves down near the creek.

The trees of red, orange, and yellow stood tall like a peak.

Looking out the windows I was in awe and could barely speak.

For the moment was perfect and made my knees weak.

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The howling of the wind and the floorboards that creak.

The rustling of the leaves and the mice that squeak.

The breeze that kisses my rosy, red cheeks.

You must know, a day spent in this old barn was never bleak.

For every moment here was truly unique.

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On a cold winter’s night, the frozen pond was the place to be.

Glistening ice and dancing snowflakes were all that you could see.

People would gather and sing Christmas carols with holiday glee.

Sung like a choir, “On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me:

A partridge in a pear tree.”

And soon were cheers with cups of cinnamon and clove spiced tea.

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When springtime comes, hope and renewal is a fruitful sign.

Blossoms reach to the heavens on the twisting vine.

The smell of flowers is like a sparkling berry wine,

And a bed of marigolds radiates like fire and clementine.

Picked from the soil, they are wrapped in brown paper and twine,

To give to a loved one or a sweet valentine.

And at night, a bull appears when the stars align.

The constellation, Taurus, illuminates and shines.

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But then the rain stopped, and a strong wind blew.

The earth became dust, and no crops grew.

A terrible plight did ensue in the year of nineteen-hundred and thirty-two.

The crops were ash, and the livestock could not carry through.

Food was scarce, and what was left, could feed only a few.

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The paint faded, the wood cracked, and the cobwebs did accrue.

This barn was worn like an old shoe.

But one day a melancholy wind passed through.

Down yonder, hidden amongst the morning dew.

There in a garden, where magnolia flowers once grew.

Is a stone that reads, “I love you”.

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And on that day, a poem is recited with the people who have come amass:

We remember the rustling of the branches, the fresh-cut grass.

The morning dew that glistens, like sparkling glass.

The sun-kissed wheat that shines like polished brass.

And the whistling wind that will carry birds that pass.

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*My great-grandparents were Swedish immigrants who came to the US in the 1920s and settled in Colorado. This poem was loosely based on stories my grandmother would tell me about her childhood in Colorado and also of the Dust Bowl of the 1930s.

My great-grandfather, John Albert.

My great-grandfather.

"It was soon filled with horses, pigs, and even a hound."

Meet my grandmother's childhood dog, Tipper.

My great-grandparents, Anna Jenny & John Albert.

"On a cold winter’s night, the frozen pond was the place to be.

Glistening ice and dancing snowflakes were all that you could see."

My great-grandfather is on the far right.

"I will never forget autumn leaves down near the creek.

The trees of red, orange, and yellow stood tall like a peak."

My great-grandmother in the early 1920s.

"To give to a loved one or a sweet valentine."

My great-grandparents were married on March 9, 1923 in Denver, Colorado.

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I thank you so much for reading my rhyme.

I hope you enjoyed it and I appreciate your time!

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