Old Man Brxb

The Old Barn
By
J. Carl Brooksby

When I see an old barn, my thoughts return home
To the place where I lived ere I started to roam.
I think ever fondly of our barn full of hay,
Where, as youthful children, we would frolic and play.

We’d tie ropes to the rafters; we could climb there with ease,
And pretend we were men on the flying trapeze.
We would fly high and low; we’d swing and we’d sway,
Then, when we got tired, we would fall on the hay.

In the sweet-smelling hay, we would lie on our backs
And look at the sunbeams in the sun through the cracks.
We’d play “cops and robbers” and fall “dead” on the hay;
There were so many games that we children could play.

We could play “hide and seek”, there were places to hide.
There were kittens to play with and horses to ride.
We could drive in the milk cows from the field down below;
Never get them excited, but drive them in slow.

Now, the barn is not there: there are houses instead,
But those ever sweet memories are still in my head.
I can never forget the contentment and charm
Of those sweet summer days that we spent in the barn.