THE OLD BARN By A. B. LOCKE
You've heard the story of locking the door, After the horse had gone afore. A door I knew never had a lock Lucky indeed if it even was shut. High on a hill, back of the house, Stood the old barn with a comfortable air; Housing for years a good old friend Offering shelter to the old bay mare. I can see dad now drive up the lane, Over the mare's back rested the rein- Unhitched from out the one horse shay Unguided the old mare knew her way. She knew the oat-bin, a tall pine chest, On top of the cover her head would rest, Never I knew her to enter her stall Till she sniffed at the box, examined it all. With a clap of his hands, dad shooed her away Same old procedure, day after day, Now for the meal, how she would whine, If late in coming, oh my what a time. Off we would go, leave open the door, Everything littered all over the floor- Bills on the side-walls of strange medicine ads, Colic and spavin cures, all known to dad. On the same spot, a steel building now stands, It's cold and unhomelike, clammy, ungrand; It houses the auto we use on the farm You can say what you will, I miss the old barn. Judy http://iceryder.net http://clickryder.com
