A Cold Wintery Spell

VANISHING BARNThe man's barn is the man's worthThe cedar's pungence, the mow and the lightThese legacies of line and scaleThatch, shingle, gable and slateFrom soil to shelter, from timber, honey colouredRubbings from hay and straw, now lichen covered,This rhythm of the bays,That faint hickory creak,Those fiddler tunes,In rafters where love once hid.The vanishing barn, its simplicity bends slowly,Geometry ages on the brace,Beams hugged by dowels of oakWhere cobwebbed corners once held a song.Quebec, Chester County, the pilgrim's grip,The threshing floor, between cows and calf, came his stepOn the echo of pigeons wings,Beauty had this space -Porch whispers, silence shape,The earthy smell of harvests long past.--Paul Kloppenborg