Rooted Deep3/31/2024
Beneath the wide and watchful sky, they stand, A plinth upon which we fed, Rooted deep in fertile land, More than a manager, a thread. With boards that have borne the brunt of time's slow churn, Their facades a tapestry, weathered, worn, and wise, They stand, not just as structures, but as marks of time's return, Their silence speaking volumes 'neath the expansive skies. In their embrace, stories intertwine, Of lively dances, joyous weddings held within, Where community and tradition combine, A testament to unity, a kinship spun so thin. Icons of a culture, sturdy and grand,
Emblems of a life both hard and free, They mark the landscape, a pioneering brand, A heritage of toil, of hope, of what can be. Leaning into tomorrow with a grace that's borne of age, Their frames, though bowed, refuse to break or bend. Each nail and beam, a word within a timeless page, A testament to endurance, to beginnings without end. At the heart of farms, they serve and save, Guarding grain and beast and tool, An economic engine, strong and brave, In the fabric of the land, a jewel. Their rustic charm, a muse's delight, Inspiring brush, and pen, and lens, In beams of wood and fields of light, Their beauty, a narrative, dense. Here, where the wind sings hymns through slats and seams, The air holds a crispness, scented with hay and earth. In the golden light, their age-old beauty beams-- A quiet dignity, a testament to their worth. To the curious mind, they open doors, A classroom under rafters high, Where one learns of soils and open moors, And of the cycles under the sky. But as the world turns, so too do they, Adapting, changing, finding new roles to play, From barn to boardroom, in sunlight and in grey, A testament to resilience, come what may. So here's to the barn, a symbol, a sign, Of America’s heart, its past, and its prime, In the story of a nation, so beautifully defined, A chapter of endurance, through the passage of time. For in their stoic presence, there's a strength that's found-- In every crack and crevice, history's echo sounds. They're not merely buildings, but hallowed ground, Rooted deep in memory, where past and present bounds. May they stand forever, these guardians of lore, Preserving our heritage, from shore to shore, More than just structures, but keepers of the core, Of the American spirit, now and forevermore. Comments are closed.
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