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Grandpa’s barn once filled with life
now stands a vacant lot
rough and tumble timbered charm
a time that land forgot.

Around this sacred childhood place
grow fields of apple trees
the milking cows long since replaced
with busy honey bees.

Tending to and cleaning stalls
consumed my Grandpa’s day
lofty beams enticed our falls
to smells of new-mown hay.

He lived and breathed the rapture
of a fading country way
in my mind I walk those pastures
through fields of yesterday.