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When Last I Saw The Barn

April 29th, 2012 by Magdalena Tabor
When last I saw the  barn, it stood.
A ramshackle rambling of moss and wood.
And nothing else around it could
Lend a crutch for its own good.
The meadows swept its every side
But one, the road curtailed its sigh.
It dozed at dawn and eventide
And  never stirred as I brushed by.
Each year it stooped a little more.
The rush of wind bent in its door.
Ignoble one, and one ignored,
Yet glimpsed a thousand times before.
When last I saw the barn, it swayed.
The tender earth made good its grave.
What wouldn’t keep, I couldn’t save
When I myself have grown as gray.
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