The Barn Poem by Gert Strydom
The Barn
The smell of baled cut hay,
cut cornstalks, fuel from drums
the hot tractors cooling down
and in the semi-dark the hoard
of farm implements,
with a cold cement floor
under your bare feet,
to me it was like Aladdin’s den
a place where useful magical things
of great value were stored.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: farm
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4/23/2024 5:03:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
