by p.smith

Created on: July 02, 2008   Last Updated: July 06, 2008

The Old Barn

The old barn sleeps, ignored, beside the highway,
Where tourists thunder by, vacation bound.
And in her dreams she sees her past unfolded,
And ghosts of folk who once walked here-around.

This barn is standing here because the Gold-rush,
Brought fortune-seekers in from points untold,
Like tourists searching for that perfect campground,
They rushed toward adventure -and the GOLD!

The barn has hosted horses, cows and donkeys,
And witnessed birth and death among the beasts.
Some animals were buried just behind her,
Their struggles done, their weary souls released.

The old barn remembers well her useful lifetime,
Of storing,feeding,housing beasts and men,
Men, of all kinds, their motives changing daily,
The servile beasts, so glad of hay and pen.

This barn has noticed every human feeling,
And many deeds resulting from these moods.
There have been secret deeds done here, in shadows,
Their revelation now would serve no good.

For Gold-Rush Days were last attempts,by many,
To attain the wealth that all men do crave.
Their hope and greed destroyed their better judgment,
And many of them found untimely graves.

The barn recalls her hasty,greedy builders,
Who planned to milk the miners, and to thrive.
For gold-rush wealth lay not in creeks and sluices,
But in selling goods so miners could survive.

The barn knows she became a private goldmine,
For her first owner, who grew rich and fat.
While treasure seekers' spirits became broken,
Their minds and bodies by ill health attacked.

This barn heard scorn,derision, by the miners,
On their way up to find their fortunes bright.
But rat infested hovels on the creek bed,
Made home-bound wretches glad to spend the night.

The barn feels there won't be another gold-rush
To bring more greenhorns, seeking wealth assured.
The old barn sighs and mourns the dreams that died here
And thinks of that ill-fated, greedy horde.

Of late the old barn has detected whispers,
Of subdivisions planned for this old land
And wonders if the new folks here will notice,
The ghosts of men whose gold dreams turned to sand.

The barn sees ghosts go wand'ring through her barnyard
She sees them glide in silence,in the night.
They prowl through the old barn's crumbling hayloft,
She hears them weeping softly by moonlight.

Here comes the big machine to tear the barn down.
Here come the new home-owners,with their crew.
They do not know about the old barn's tenure,
They bring their own dreams here to start anew.

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