The Crib

Today, the corn crib stands alone.
Those flakes of red reflect its past,
when painted like the barn beyond –
a prosperous boast to passersby.

But now the barn has tumbled down,
and gray decay replaces red.
The sway-backed roof cannot but slow
the snow or softly dripping rain.

Some shriveled cobs adorn the floor,
the cornucopia’s last remains
(the kernels fat with yellow gold
that fed and fattened hens and hogs).

The rats that stole those golden cobs
and vexed the helpless farmer’s wife
are now the landlords of the crib,
now freed from raiding barnyard cats.

While in its prime, this modest hut
suspended time, extended food
beyond its season, thus sustained
dependent life with bounties stored. 

So picturesque, the crib today, 
reminding present to heed the past
and read its warning of future days;
this tiny structure straddles time.

   


Written May 1998 by David L Brungart - © Copyright