As I pulled onto the red dirt road, the barn was standing there,

where as a child, I ran about and had no other cares.

No doors upon her weathered walls, no hay up in the loft,

no kitten cuddling up with me, who’s furry, warm, and soft.

No cows to milk, no hens to lay, no pitchfork in his hands,

now Grandpa’s gone, but here I see his dreams and all his plans.

He’d walk with me and talk with me when I was but a child.

I learned a lot just being there, free and running wild.

Here in this barn I close my eyes and smell the scythe -cut hay,

and hear the old red rooster crow before the break of day.

The creek still flows across the road where he held onto me

and walked upon the mountain trails, where once walked Cherokee.

He spent his life here on this farm that I have come to see,

and planted seeds of hope and love deep in my memory.

Susan J.