Walking through that amber field
With noonday sun cutting through
The September day,
I approached an old weatherbeaten
Barn perched amid swaying
Tassles of autumn grass.
The barn, with rusting metal roof
And sideboards warped and bent
Cried of neglect
And the ravages of time.
Resisting the urge to run my fingers
Along the rivened boards,
To osmose their years,
To glean the stories held there,
I glanced upon an old rusty nail
Bent and weathered by the years,
Driven too carelessly
Into the wood.
And left as a reminder
Of the day this structure rose.
The nail protruded proudly
As if in defiance
Of its misshapen countenance
And the decades of weather
Which tried in vain to wear it away.
Its shadow flowed gallantly
Down the length of the board
Holding it in eternal grasp
Half disgorged, half ensconced.
One day both nail and board
Will be gone, forgotten
As time and man take their toll
No more shadows, no remains
No memories.
Just gone.
