By Pete Tucker

An ancient barn stood in our hollow,
Long part my childhood sphere.
I was given to often ponder
Travail that happened here.

It has stirred me to wonder.
How many men here did moil?
Beams of unfathomed weight,
Bents of untold toil.

Ah, that I could know!
Did neighbors gather with tools?
Pulleys and ropes for lugging the timbers,
For hoisting them, determined mules?

This barn sheltered the Holsteins,
An occasional Jersey did mix.
One lone Guernsey as well
Completed herd politics.

But the milking is long since ended.
The barn yet stands proud.
By those who did the building, the milking
I am humbly wowed.

Still tall in stature,
It weathered the test of time.
Hewn to humble grandeur,
A vision, at length, sublime.