The barn has mighty feet, built by those of the thirties,
Blocks of made-up stones pulls around the outside each placed one at a time,
Made white with wash to keep it clean, and make it young.
The windows high upon the steel of front and back, some air to keep it whole.
The buckers-door over the front, let bales a way in, off the trailer; out of the barn, on the hottest and coldest of days.
Hot, so hot, as if the skillet were on top of the gas, frying all who was in its grasp.
Cold, so cold, the frost, appearing on his beard and gloves, as his breath creates a fog.
The silo sits in slumber, it’s top a ring of green, as trees have made their home there, to watch, to see, to feel, the essence of the farm.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Ralph Peck
Chouteau Oklahoma
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