The Barn By The Side Of The Road Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

The wind battered barn stands alone
Nothing has changed in the years since
It once stood proud
Defending that which was within.

Man cared for the structure as it stood
Adding a bit of tin here, a board there
But still its sagging frame revealed what man did not want to see
Sometime, but not yet, it would yield to the wind.

First would come the tearing away of the added sheet-iron
Revealing the weathered wood within
The slabs of rough cut wood greet the rain
And drink it in, not knowing that it is poison.

For with each drop that falls
It quickly causes the fibres to swell
Soon pushing against the hand forged nails
That hold all in place.

Hear the groans and creaking timbers
As they move into an unaccustomed stance
Pulling against one another
As if to be set free.

Then the sun blazing hot in this July of history
Bears down from the East warming the barn's inner soul
Drying out the water soaked beams
Hear them moan as they move agaiinst gravity.

A quick shower revives the air within
Causing dust to swirl and quickly settle
Until a cascade of raindrops falls
Wetting the boards, worn by use.

No longer is there corn piled high
Or loose hay stored within
All has been taken away
And there is an emptiness here.

A gust of wind telling of an oncoming storm
Larger than that which produced the scattered drops of rain
The West wind blows but the barn is accustomed to this afront
But then in a quick reversal, from the East it comes.

First a steady drum of drops as big as a quarter
Then more until the sky is full
The barn sighs and seems to say
This is my final day.

All that remains, for man to see
Is a jumble of aged timbers
And bits of tin spread over this once proud spot
Where stood a tribute to man's desire to protect and hold.

The old barn is no more.
Revealed, the boilers that have been stored within
Wood fired boilers to take the slash pine drippings
And yield turnpentine for man.

Such is progress,
But is it progress?